


She Can't Know

by FallenStarOf96



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fear, Healing, Muggle-born, Romance, Torture, Unrequited Crush, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenStarOf96/pseuds/FallenStarOf96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione is attacked at Hogwarts Draco is forced to face the fast-approaching reality that Hermione, his Hermione, is first in line to be taken out by the forces his family aligns with. He can't afford to keep his feelings hidden, not from her at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She Can't Know

She just can’t know, she can’t find out, just how much she means to me. I always hate myself, just a little bit more, each time I see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. What I wouldn’t do to make it official, to make the taboo, that I’d been raised to believe whole-heartedly, disappear forever. To take back all of the harsh words I’d ever spoken, to her and to any muggle born.

But their relationship could never see the light of day. They’d have to settle for stolen kisses in abandoned corridors, whispered confessions in the dead of night, and nights of sweet pleasure followed by one of them sneaking out before the first rays of light. But oh how he wished he could change all of that. To be able to hold her hand and walk together to class, or to tell her he loved her, in front of everyone or even in private, or to be able to hold her in his arms all night long.

A sad, wistful look came over his face as he looked down at her sleeping form. This was one of his worst fears. And it had come true in an unexpected way. He was a death eater’s son, next in line to join Lord Voldemort’s army of purebloods, no matter which way the war, the war that was only inevitable, went they would never be together. If Potter and the order won than his family would be locked up in Azkaban, shunned from the wizarding community. If Voldemort won, he cringed at the thought, than he wouldn’t have to watch Hermione build a life with another, no, she’d be killed, as an example, by Voldemort or another death eater. The color drained from his face at the thought that he might be tasked with that should that future become reality.

Back in the present he jumped at the sound of the infirmary door slamming shut behind the flustered nurse. He jumped up, trying to explain why he was here, watching over Hermione Granger. But she stopped him.

“Look Draco,” she was too tired for formalities, “far too much has gone on today. I don’t need to know why you’re here, I just need to know that you won’t hurt her.” She looked down at the pale brunette lying under a thin white sheet, “At least not any worse than she already is.” Draco nodded, following the nurse’s sad gaze.

Without another word she moved towards her office to write the last bit of paperwork. Before entering her office she looked at the visitor’s log for Miss. Granger.

12pm – Ginny Weasley (came in with patient), 12:30

1pm – Ron and Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, 4pm

6pm – Ron and Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Nevile Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, 8pm

Draco was smart enough to make it to the infirmary past curfew, and he wouldn't risk their private relationship by signing into the visitor’s book. It stung a bit to see the name of the others she loved written there, knowing that he could never spend that amount of time with her, he couldn’t share his worry for her with the people on that list. But, if only for a little bit, he would stay by her side while she slept, hoping she’d wake up and show him those beautiful brown eyes still cloudy with sleep.

Truly his worst fear had come true. He didn’t know who had done it, but if he ever found out he would…he would do nothing, what could he even do. Hermione had been hurt, hurt badly, and all because of him. She should never have been in the dungeons at that time.

He always feared that their relationship would put her in the crosshairs, not that her friendship with Potter did any better. But he always thought it would be his father, of Bellatrix, or even Voldemort himself that caused her harm. Never did he think something like this would happen. He folded his tall frame into a small, uncomfortable chair beside her bed and simply studied her now bruised features.

Her curly brown locks were pulled away from her face, frizzing against the soft fabric of her pillow. Her dark lashes grazed her cheeks, her brown eyes hidden behind her eyelids. A white bandage covered her forehead, hiding a gash that went from her ear to her temple and another that stretched along her hairline. There were more bandages on her arms, what skin left uncovered, and there wasn’t much, was a purple-blue color as the bruises settled under her skin. He couldn’t see under the sheet but he still knew that her right leg was in a splint, the nurse attempting to heal her leg completely while she was still unconscious. Broken bones were still painful, even magic had its limits. He was sure that under her clothes more bruises and injuries would be found. Her skin was pale, more so than usual, and each breath she took was done so shakily. She would cringe slightly as slight tremors of pain from her injuries slid through her. Whoever attacked her must have used crucio on her; the tremors and multitude of evenly spread bruises covering nearly every inch of her body were clear markers of the curse.

Draco couldn’t look anymore; he dropped his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to wake up from this nightmare. But of course that wouldn’t work, this wasn’t a nightmare, just his worst fears come true in the form of his own, personal hell.

He was sure he was hearing things the first time he heard the soft groan from where Hermione lay. The second time he convinced himself it was just his mind playing tricks. It wasn’t till her voice whispered his name that he realized she was awake. His head jolted up, finding Hermione with her head turned towards him and her soft brown eyes barely open.

“Draco?” she gazed at him with confused, half-lidded eye. “What’s…where…where am I?” her voice was soft, slowly forming the words with her lips before speaking.

“You’re in the infirmary.” He stated blatantly, she tried to sit up but his hand on her shoulder stopped him, “Relax. You were attacked.” He couldn’t seem to shake the cold, stern voice he used to keep the distance between them. Her amber eyes widened in fright, her hands gripping the thin sheets that covered her. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as it began to quiver slightly. He could see her mind moving through every scenario quickly, must faster than anyone would think possible.

“Wha-?” she couldn’t get the word completely out of her mouth, a rather harsh tremor ran through her body, the pain visible in her cringing features. She bit harder into her lip, drawing the tiniest bit of blood. Her hands gripped the sheet tightly, her knuckles white. Her eyes squeezed shut and Draco was left unable to do anything but watch pain distort her features and draw a few beads of sweat to her brow.

Unable to stand it any longer he reached a hand out and held hers, tugging it loose from the sheet and curling his long, boney fingers around her slim ones. Her palms were clammy, and her nails bit into his skin as the tremor continued, he felt intense pressure bearing down on the bones of his hand; any more would have broken it. But the tremor passed before that happened. Her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath and her hairline now damp with sweat.

“Slughorn found you unconscious in the dungeons early this morning. You have been out all day long. From what I can tell you have a bad gash on your forehead,” he trailed a fingertip across the edge of the bandage, “a few cuts and scrapes, and bruises, and possibly a broken leg.” He glanced down at her leg before his eyes moved back to her face. He gently stroked back a damp strand of her hair while he allowed this new information to sink in. Her grip on his hand was no longer painful but still a kept the firm grip. She let out a shaky breath, her eyes on him again, the familiar inquisitive and determined look back in place.

“Who did this?” she desperately wanted to know who attacked her.

“Nobody knows. But I’m sure it was a Slytherin."

“Why?”

“The tremors and bruising are at an extent that is an unmistakable symptom of Cruciatus curses.”

“Wha-” he cut her off.

“Slytherins are generally from pure blood families, old ones, and many of us were taught how to cast those spells by older relatives. I don’t know any other way someone would be able to cast that spell at this level.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“No.” I felt immense guilt at how little I really knew about what happened, he’d been in his dorm all last night and this morning studying for a potions test, he’d threatened anyone who dared to disturb him. Though he didn’t think he could have acted normal hearing from his friends how Hermione had been attacked. “What were you doing down there, your patrols were supposed to be by the astronomy tower with Weasely?”

“He never showed, I started the patrol and he still never showed but I ran into Jones. She was signed up to patrol the dungeons for another half hour but she wasn’t feeling well. I just offered to cover her last half hour and thought maybe we could…” she blushed faintly and looked away quickly, all of the things they’d done together and she still got flustered talking about it. “I… I don’t remember anything after that.” She was frustrated, usually her mind was her greatest asset, but this time it was working against her.

Meanwhile Draco was having a bit of an internal battle himself. So it was Weasely that should have been with her, it was his fault this happened. He was to blame, or at least he could be blamed. Draco’s blood began to boil, rage bubbling just below the surface. Weasely could have stopped this; it was his fault that Hermione, his Hermione, was hurt. His knuckles were white again, but this time it wasn’t Hermione squeezing their joined hands.

“Draco? What’s wrong?” she looked up at him worried but unable to make out anything from his stoic facial expression, usually she could read him through his eyes but she couldn’t see the pools of cool sliver that she loved. He was non responsive, forcing Hermione to lift herself up, groaning at the sore stiffness in her arms, shoulders, and back. He snapped out of his focus at the sound of her groan, a hand on her back helping her sit up.

“What are you doing? You need to lie down and rest.” He insisted, his frustration forgotten for the moment.

“What were you thinking about right now? What was making you so…angry?” she inquired, her inquisitive eyes a familiar comfort for his troubled mind.

He didn’t answer, knowing she’d defend the blithering idiot to the bitter end and not wanting to add any stress to her already troubled mind.

“Nothing, just angry at the…whole…this.” He was lost for words for once, gesturing to the space around them he tried to cover up his anger at Weasley with anger at the situation in general.

They sat in silence for a bit, neither one sure what to say given the circumstance. Their hands were still clasped together and his other hand rubbed her back in small, soothing circles, but the room was silent but for the soft sound of their breathing.

“You’re quite.” Hermione observed.

“Not in a very talkative mood I guess.”

“Yes, but usually you still find a way to tease me at least.” She tilted her head coyly, trying to lighten the deep, dark mood that had come over him.

“Sorry, I guess I just don’t find anything all that amusing right now.” His thumb caressed her hand lightly as he stared off into space. Fed up with this behavior Hermione pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest, blazing eyes pointed at him.

“What is it now?” he questioned, unsure of what he could possibly done to piss her off now, he’d barely spoken.

“I’m not dead.” She grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart. “See, still breathing.”

“Okay, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m alive; there is no need for you to mourn. I’m still here, Draco.”

“I’m NOT mourning you Hermione.” he looked away, unwilling to admit just how scared he was to lose her. She’d changed him, so much and in such a short time, for the better. He no longer followed blindly, bending to the will of others simply because of their power and stature. He would have never gotten this far without her; he’d still be the git that judged based solely on blood. Well he’d seen Hermione’s now, and it looked no different than his.

“Damn it Malfoy!” She hadn’t used his last name in a long time, memories of those earlier years stung like freezing water, “For once in your life, please, just show some emotion.” Her plead ended on a feeble request; he would have considered it begging if not for the demanding look in her eyes.

He stood there for a while, a scowl forming on his pale face, his Malfoy features contorting to the same cold, hostile scowl that his father sported. Hermione thought he was going to shut her out, to walk away because he didn’t like the answer to the question she was asking, the same thing he’d always done.

But he didn’t, with resolution in his stormy grey eyes he crashed his lips onto hers, holding her head between his hands carefully, like she as a delicate doll and to handle her to harshly could break her into a thousand people.

This kiss was fuelled by some undistinguishable emotion that Hermione couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the hurried, guilty pleasure of their first rushed kisses in dark, abandoned corridors. It wasn’t the passionate longing of their more recent kisses when they sneak off during patrols to snog in the halls they were supposed to be patrolling. And it most definitely wasn’t the sweet, romantic goodbye kisses they would share at the end of each night together. This wasn’t longing or passion or any number of the emotions she’d felt kissing him, and she’d felt more emotions than she dared speak out loud.

His lips were soft but demanding on her, gently coaxing her lips apart so that his tongue could slip between them and explore her mouth. The pads of his thumbs brushing against both sides of her head as his other fingers gingerly tangled in her hair. It seemed as though he was trying to prove something, to himself or to her she couldn’t say. Whatever it was he must have done it because after what felt like a lifetime, only a few minutes in reality, he backed his lips off hers, his forehead presses against hers allowing them the breath the same air and stare into each other’s eyes. Their breathing was harsh, slight pain radiated form Hermione’s ribs from her injuries, but she was focused on Draco at the moment, the movement of his lips signaling that he was about to speak.

“I…I can’t lose…you. I can’t do it Hermione.” He pulled her into an embrace, finishing his speech in hushed whispers that somehow found their way past her bushy hair to reach her ears. “I love you Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened…if you…you.” his voice was breathy but he was not crying, he was more serious than she’d ever seen him. She was shocked, she never thought, or even dreamed, she’d hear those words come from him. He never admitted to even liking her, and maybe he didn’t, but that didn’t matter because he loved her. Shocked and happy tears filled the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill but not quite ready to. She was clinging to him, her hand holding onto his shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. The soft material of the shirt a welcome sensation, though he’d probably complain about the tear stains later on she couldn’t help but let those tears fall.

With an even sigh Draco squeezed her tighter and laid his head down on top of her hair, content to just be near her right now as he enjoyed the delicate lavender scented conditioner she used which had somehow managed to cling to her hair. While he preferred her usual scent, a mixture of old parchment and spearmint toothpaste, anything about her would have comforted him now. With one last, deep shuddering breath he closed his eyes.

“I love you too.” The faint words, whispered into his shirt were barely audible, but they were heard.


	2. Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Hermione relives her attack in this chapter through flashbacks in italicized font. Please be weary if you are triggered by violence and such things

It is the strong smell of antiseptic, the simple muggle medicine with such a potent stench that wakes the sleeping girl, the lone patient in the hospital wing. Her big brown eyes fluttering open to see Madame Pomfrey capping the familiar brown bottle, the same one her mother kept in the bathroom cabinet for the random cuts and scrapes.  The healer gave her a reassuring smile, experienced enough to know that patients were often spooked waking up in unfamiliar surroundings.

            “You’re wounds are already healing. You’ll be here another day or two tops.” She didn’t leave her spot at the side of Hermione’s bed, scribbling something on the clipboard. Madame Pomfrey had the same undistinguishable handwriting as her parents and all muggle doctor’s she’d seen growing up, she’d come to the conclusion long ago that all medical professional had atrocious handwriting. “You are very brave Ms. Granger, to be healing so quickly after an attack like yours is remarkable.” The nurse put a reassuring hand on Hermione’s shoulder, which was no longer sore to the touch.

            Hermione didn’t think she was brave. She thought she was stupid. She’d left herself so vulnerable and open for the attack, wandering around the dungeon corridors aimlessly. She’d acted irrationally and she’d paid the price, she was simply grateful that her attacker hadn’t taken advantage of her in any other ways. But she nodded along with the nurse, giving her a grateful smile before lying back to rest a bit more.

            It wasn’t long after that when Harry, Ron, and Ginny came in with a few trays of breakfast. They’d brought tons of food and planned to eat with her before they had to go to classes. All three of them looked troubled. Harry’s eyes were downcast and his hair was more unkempt that normal; Hermione knew he was blaming himself, when in all actuality this particular event was completely unrelated to his involvement with Dark wizards. Ron kept running his hand through the slightly too long locks of red hair and he looked greenish every time he even glanced at the trays of food; he hardly ate while he was there. Ginny looked like she hadn’t slept at all, the bags under her eyes dark and reminiscent of hers the week before O.W.L.S. 

            She wanted to voice her observations on their appearance, but she probably looked worse, which made her even more self-conscious. She tried to run her fingers through her mess of hair but she couldn’t get past a large knot near the top of her head. Frustrated she pulled her hair back, the back of her neck clammy and the small hairs there were damp with sweat.

            “How are you doing Hermione?” Harry asked taking the seat by her bed.

            “I’m alright; a bit sore, but on the mend. Madame Pomfrey said I had to stay here another day or two.” Her three guests nodded along but she still had a request. “Could you guys take note for me and just write down my assignments? Maybe bring them to me if you have a chance so I don’t fall behind?”

            “Bloody hell, ‘Mione, you of all people shouldn’t worry about falling behind. You could teach the damn class.”

            “Ronald, language.” She scolded him but he ignored her.

            “You should be more worried about resting and getting better, missing a few assignments won’t kill you.”

Ron didn’t seem to get just how important it was for her to get back into her normal routine, so she could put this whole incident behind her. Ginny and Harry could she where this disagreement was heading and refused to let Ron get her riled up after what she’d been through in the last thirty-six hours.

“We’ll make sure to get it to you after dinner.” Ginny butt in, stopping her brother from making another comment that would only lead to an argument, and putting Hermione’s irrational worries at rest. 

The trio had to leave, classes would be starting and Hermione insist they be on time. And as the door shut behind them it opened to reveal McGonagall and Dumbledore. They came to stand at the foot of her bed and exchanged formalities. But they quickly got to the point.

They asked her if she remembered anything, and at that moment she didn’t, but she promised to think back and try to recover something. The two adults agreed, saying that time and rest would probably help her focus and recall the events that needed clearing up. They promised to return before dinner and left Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Not being one to procrastinate she immediately began trying anything to remember what had happened to her. Closing her eyes she leaned back against the pillows and forced her mind to remember.

_The hallways were deserted, on a Monday night few people had energy left to be out past curfew. Hermione was nearly done checking her section when she crossed Tina Jones, a smart girl from Ravenclaw who Hermione had grown fond of. Tina looked truly awful; her hair was pulled into a messy bun, showing off all of her pale, clammy looking skin. Her eyes were dull, dark circles underneath them, and she coughed or sneezed every few steps. Hermione stopped the girl._

_“Tina, goodness, you look awful.” She patted the girls shoulder._

_“Yeah, it’s okay, just dreading this patrol.” She joked, “Slytherin halls too, last thing I need is some over privileged little shit giving me trouble.” Hermione like the way the girl was straightforward, calling things out exactly as she saw them._

_“Tina, go to be, I’ll take your patrol.” Hermione offered, stopping the girl from arguing, “I’m wide awake anyway.” She smiled to reassure Jones. She was far too sick to argue and relented, allowing Hermione to take her patrol._

_Hermione continued walking, going down the stairs instead of up them, headed in the direction of the dungeons._

            She shook her head a bit, regretting it when she felt the slight twitch of a headache forming behind her temples. Well it was easy to remember that, Jones would be able to back up that part, though she’d be another person blaming herself for Hermione’s attack.

            Hermione needed to remember more, to place blame on the person who really deserved it, her attacker.

 

_The dungeons were always a bit spooky; Hermione never understood how Slytherins could be comfortable in such a dark, damp place. There was an ever present sound of dripping water, coupled with the even tap of her footsteps. It was somewhat relaxing, rhythmic and monotonous. Hermione felt no reason to be uneasy or to look behind her, but she should have been on her guard._

_She didn’t hear another set of footsteps, her stalker keeping a far enough distance while also matching her footsteps. In the dark no one could see the sly grin that split the figure’s face. She reached the end of the area she was supposed to be patrolling, stopping she thought for a moment. She could go up the staircase in front of her, and simply go to bed, or, she could also see if she couldn’t find Draco slinking around the corridors; like her he had a nasty habit of being in the library until obscene hours during the week of midterms. She turned on her heel and walked back down to dark dungeon halls, not even aware of the shadow that hid just behind a pillar as she changed direction._

_The figure sneered, this would be even better; no one would find her in the depths of Slytherin domain until the next morning. With a small flick of the wrist the spell was cast and Hermione was frozen, petrified like she’d been her second year. The only difference here was that she was aware. While she couldn’t move, frozen mid-step, she could look around, expressing herself through her eyes._

_If she could’ve moved she would have snapped her neck turning to see the source of heavy footstep that came from behind her. She knew fear was written clearly across her face but try as she might she simply couldn’t hide the terror that gripped her._

Hermione sat straight up, her body rushing with adrenaline at the mere memory of her attack, or at least the beginning. It all went black after that. That both frustrated Hermione and scared her. What could have happened to her that caused a blackout? She feared the answer to that but knew if she could just remember a bit more that she’d have a chance to figure this whole thing out.

She closed her eyes, fully intending to try and regain some of her lost memories. But exhaustion took over; the moment her eyes slid closed her mind shut off, but her deep sleep came at a price.

 

_She knew she was still in the Slytherin corridors, down in the dungeons, the basement of the school. She knew she was on the floor, the cool, damp stones scratching harshly against the backs of her legs and the small span of exposed skin where her shirt rode up her back. She couldn’t see far beyond herself, but she knew her attacker was still there, the footsteps ringing out clearly as they stalked around her shivering, aching body. The footsteps were echoing in through the corridor, walking circles around the helplessly paralyzed girl like a vulture finding an easy meal._

_The only thing that kept Hermione from begging, groveling, for some relief was the knowledge that it would do no good, this twisted person would only get off on her vulnerability and the power they now held over her. So she was silent, as quiet a raggedy breathing and gasps She could never have imagined what the Cruciatus curse felt like when one was under it, she’d researched and read Auror accounts, but those versions didn’t come anywhere near what she as feeling now._

_It felt as if her heart was going to break through her ribcage, or that one beat would be too much and her heart would simply be crushed under the pressure she was feeling. It was beating far too loudly, it echoed in her ears. Her eyes flittered wildly, desperately trying to find the person who attacked her but coming up with nothing but the faint outline of the figure as it stood just deep enough in the shadows to be hidden from her view._

_She glared at the figure, pain transforming to hatred in her eyes as she unknowingly intimidated her attacker. She worked the lump in her throat, calling on the last ounces of her Gryffindor courage to speak out._

_“Why are you doing this?” her voice was pained and faint but the anger in her voice was clear. The shadow stepped back a bit, visibly intimidated by the girl who could somehow retain her power while broken and lying on the cold, grimy floor. There was no reply, and Hermione was slowly slipping out of consciousness. Her eyelids fought her will, drooping closed as exhaustion came over her._

_Before her mind abandoned her she heard one word, it wasn’t the ones she was expecting; it wasn’t the green flash that haunted her nightmares surrounding Sirius Black’s death. No the voice didn’t speak the two words, Avada Kedavara, that would have ended her. Instead there was a green flash and a whispered stupefy. And then it was all gone, blurry at first, but blurry darkness was nearly the same as complete darkness._

Hermione woke with a start, a hand going to her chest, pressed over her heart as she felt the frantic beat reverberating through her chest. That was it, the last piece of her memory. It didn’t seem likely that she’d be able to remember much more but that was okay, she really wasn’t too eager to remember what being under an unforgivable curse was like, feeling the after effects was enough.

She had something now at least, something that might help find her attacker. Just before the green flash and her black out the figure stepped just too close, making himself just visible enough. It was a boy, not in the same year as her, maybe one or two years below her, but Slytherin, definitely Slytherin. His hair was longer, blond and his skin pale and his body small but slightly athletic looking. He looked eerily familiar, but many of the Slytherin students were related in some way, the majority of them fair skinned with light colored hair.

It wasn’t a whole lot to go on; it really wasn’t anything at all, just a general description that could describe dozens of Hogwarts student. But somehow it put Hermione just a little more at ease. She was certain if she saw the boy again she would know, but would her dodgy memory be enough. She hadn’t done much research into Wizarding law but she knew that it could be just as corrupt as muggle law. Things like this often dragged victims through the mud while the guilty remained clean and often got off with a slap on the wrist. Suddenly Hermione wasn’t so sure she wanted to do this.

She’d done all she could to regain her memory, but now she had a harder task in front of her. Could she risk someone like Rita Skeeter dragging her name through the mud, especially with all that was going on right now? It was an added stress she didn’t need right now. Hermione closed her eyes once more, as much as she wanted justice, to get that change to throttle the boy who’d attacked her, she couldn’t justify it, not right now. Maybe when this was all over, if she, Harry, and Ron were successful in taking down Voldemort and his death eaters, maybe then she’d pursue it, but by then it would be a bit pointless.

All these contradictory thoughts rushing though her skull were giving her a headache. Compromising between her choices she decided she would ask McGonagall if there was a way to keep her name out of it should her attacker be found and punished.

She laid back down, resting her aching head on her pillow, all the while unaware that a certain ginger friend of hers was headed towards her with some very confusing news.


	3. One Answer, More Problems

Like promised McGonagall returned to check up on Hermione. The older woman was weary around her favorite student; it pained the elder witch to see the normally strong, defiant girl looking so broken. The color was returning, she was no longer the same pale shade as her bed sheets, and the bags under her eyes were slowly disappearing.

            “Ms. Granger,” McGonagall started, “you are looking much better.”

            “Thank you Professor.” Hermione tried her best to give her role model a reassuring smile. “I’m feeling much better.”

            “That’s good.” McGonagall paused, not really wanting to bring up her real reason for visiting but knowing it had to be taken care of soon if anything was going to get done.

            “Have you been able to remember anything from your attack?” she asked, quietly as she resisted the urge to wring her hands, settling for fighting behind her back. Hermione nodded before she began to share with her mentor the details she’d been able to remember.

            “I remember I’d offered to cover Jones’ last half-hour of patrols, she was just dreadfully sick. I remember that I’d just finished up patrols when my attacker put me in a full-body bind. From there it’s a little bit fuzzy. I remember lying there, most likely after the Cruciatus curse had been shot at me, and seeing just a bit of my attacker. He was a Slytherin boy, I believe he might have been a year or two below me but again, it’s all a bit hazy. He was blonde too, um, pale skin. Sorry this really isn’t a lot of information.  It’s not even enough for a decent description, I wish I could remember more, I wish I could-” McGonagall stopped her with a raised hand, signaling that the brilliant girl had fallen into her old bad habit of rambling when she was upset or riled. The head of Gryffindor house waited patiently until she saw that Hermione was calm before she spoke.

            “Hermione dear, you’ve done fine. That is a perfectly reasonable amount of detail, more than I would have expected after being under the Cruciatus curse. There is enough for the other faculty and I to begin looking for anyone for one nagging worry.

            “Do you think you will find him? Do I who fits that description.” She gave the young girl a reassuring smile, placing her wrinkled hand over Hermione’s and giving it a firm squeeze. Hermione looked up, feeling a bit better save even have a case to make? What happens now?” Okay maybe it was more than one nagging worry, but once the floodgates opened there was no stopping it.

            “Yes I think we will find him, your description will certainly help, and we’ve found that students are rarely able to keep these things to themselves. Your attacker will brag to someone and before long the gossip will reach the professors. We will find out who attacked you. As for your case, in a matter like this one I would recommend we reprimand him for the use of an Unforgivable Curse; I would make sure that your name would remain out of the report.” Hermione nodded along, the logical part of her thrilled at how precise McGonagall would be when orchestrating this whole ordeal.

            The two continued talking for some time, going over the facts and all the different people that would have to become involved in the case. They would of course get Jones’ testimony along with Professor Slughorn’s and from there the Professors would keep a watchful eye out for any students that matched the description, and a keen ear for any of the gossiping among the students. McGonagall left, fully ensuring Hermione that things would be handled immediately and that she and the other professors would do their best to keep her name out of the paperwork.

            Hermione was feeling exceedingly better; the only thorn in her side was the one day more she would have to spend in the infirmary. Sure she wasn’t one hundred percent, not by any stretch of the mind, but she was going stir crazy and just chomping at the bit knowing that she would have to miss yet another day of classes. Now that McGonagall was gone she had nothing to distract her overactive mind and was slowly going crazy of boredom.

            Just as Hermione was mentally listing the pros and cons of ignoring the nurse’s rule and heading down to the Great Hall the doors opened slowly and a tall, lanky figure slipped into the room, arms full of books, parchment, quills, and on top a tray literally overflowing with food.

            It was Ron Weasely, bringing Hermione her homework for the day and ‘some’ dinner. He dumped the books onto the floor at the foot of Hermione’s bed, leaving the pile of books, quills, and parchment behind as he brought the tray, which was nearly overflowing with all the different types of food Ron had brought them to eat. He’d offered to do this, knowing that Harry had a large paper due in the morning and Ginny was running a Gryffindor Quidditch practice for the chasers tonight. He may have had an ulterior motive to get Hermione alone but Harry and Ginny didn’t need to know that.

            “Ron, my goodness, just how many people do you think your feeding here?” she asked, knowing that Ron would most likely eat most of the food on the tray by himself. She gave him a smile, happy to have someone there with her; this room would surely drive her mad before morning.

            “Well,” Ron stood next to her bed, tray in hand, looking a bit skittish, and the red tint to his ears a telltale sign that he was nervous. “I just, I didn’t know what you’d want, and so I brought everything.” He set the tray down in her lap, standing by her bed awkwardly. Hermione shook her head, whatever was on Ron’s mind had him in a state. Shifting she sat up and crossed her legs in front of her before placing the tray back on her lap. She reached forward a bit, patting the bed and motioning for him to sit. He listened to her, though it didn’t seem to be a conscious action, more like a reflex from years of trial and error, eventually learning that listening to Hermione was most often the best decision.

            “So what did I miss today?” she inquired, not missing the large pile of books and supplies that Ron had brought with him.

            “Don’t worry about that, you’re supposed to be resting anyway. Just eat.” His usual bluntness had returned but he softened his statement with a smile. The same smile that had given her butterflies the first five years of their friendship. She’d had a silly little schoolgirl crush on her red headed friend for the longest time. Fourth year had been the climax of that little adventure, when he didn’t ask her and then accused her of fraternizing with the enemy, her date Victor Krum. She’d wanted so badly to go with him but she knew he didn’t really see her as a girl but as the third to their trio. She’d wanted that night to change it, and maybe it did, but now any of those romantic feeling and childhood fantasies of them dating had disappeared. She’d spend nearly all of fifth year fighting those feelings, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle those unrequited feelings and the war that would soon be raging around them. The end of fifth year only proved her right, that kind of puppy love would only distract her and ultimately put them in more danger. She couldn’t risk that.

            So she’d forced herself to get over it. In the long run she was sure this was the right choice, she and Ron were not as compatible as her fourteen year old mind had thought, or maybe it was her heart that was in charge back then. They were great as friends but she knew that their arguments would end any relationship in a harsh, friendship-damaging way. She didn’t want to lose that friendship, or put Harry and Ginny in the middle like that.

            Plus now that she was over Ron she had found herself in an unlikely romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy. She’d never think to even consider him but it had surprised her and now they were… she didn’t know what they were, only that she cared for him and he felt the same and that their feelings would be tested by the oncoming war. Draco had alluded to future battle, but was hesitant to tell her anything, claiming that it would put her in the crosshairs. She’d tried to explain to him that she already was there, she was a number one target for death eaters, right up there with Harry and Ron. But he was determined not to tell her, though he’d told her so much already.   

            Hermione was jolted back to reality when Ron tapped her on the shoulder; he’d been talking to her while she’d just been staring off into the distance.

            “Wha- Oh Ron I’m sorry, I-”

            “It’s okay.” He stopped her with a raised hand and an easy smile. “I’m sure you’ve got too much on your mind to listen to me ramble on about my problems.” Hermione eyed him, instantly curious as to what she’d missed when she wasn’t listening.

            “Problem? Ron tell me, please let me help.” It was rare that Ron willingly admit to needing help and even rarer for him to come to Hermione for help with something that wasn’t schoolwork. Ron blushed a bit at her eagerness, uncomfortable with all of her focus being on him and only him.

            “I…uh… well.” He stuttered trying, unsuccessfully, to start. “Okay, there is this girl.” He finally started, feeling dumb but having no other way to start.

            “Anyway she’s bloody brilliant, and I’m well, I’m not, and I really do fancy her, but I don’t know how to go about telling her. She wouldn’t want me anyway but I’d like to give it a go, otherwise I’ll never really know, you know.” He looked really nervous and unsure now, his ears were really red and he kept running a hand through his hair.

            “Oh Ron, I’m sure she’d like you, you really don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, fiercely loyal, and brave –though sometimes too brave for your own good -, you’re fun. Ron I’m sure whoever this girl is she’d jump at the chance to go out with you, even if it’s just for a Hogsmeade weekend. You should definitely tell her.” She really hated when Ron doubted himself; no he wasn’t Harry, but she thought that was a good thing. While she didn’t see Ron in a romantic way anymore she couldn’t ignore the obvious traits that would make him a good boyfriend, the same traits that made him a good friend. Ron was looking at little bit more sure of himself.          

            “Can I ask who it is?” Hermione’s curiosity was nagging at her. She should have listened to her mother’s warning ‘curiosity killed the cat’ but being brilliant as she was she instead followed the second part of the saying ‘but satisfaction brought it back’. Ron was visibly uncomfortable once more, shifting and fidgeting with his hands.

            “I…well…um.”

            “You don’t have to, I don’t mean to pry.”

            “No, I mean, it’s…” he took a deep breath, determination clear on his face, “It’s you, Hermione.”

            Hermione struggled to keep her jaw from opening in a shocked; never did she expect him to say that. She wanted to speak, her mouth must have looked like a fish, opening and closing as words started to form but inevitably got stuck in her throat. Ron stared back at her, seemingly unaware of the turmoil that was going on in her mind.

            This couldn’t be happening, she must still be asleep. All those years she’d spend just hoping he’d say just those words, and now, when she was finally over him, he choose to make a move. She couldn’t believe it. Ron was starting to look worried, noticing her silence.

            “Ron I…I don’t….I sorry I just don’t…I don’t see you like that Ron. I’m so sorry.” She apologized weakly, knowing that there was nothing more she could do. Her pride hated to apologize, knowing that it wasn’t her fault that she’d grown out of her feelings for Ron, but feeling horrible all the same. She’d encouraged him to put his pride and ego on the line and now she had to throw it back into his face. She hated herself at that moment, but there was nothing she could do. She waited for Ron to process her words, as he seemed to be just at gob smacked as she had been.

            “What! What you mean you don’t SEE me like that?!” Ron was angry, visibly, but she knew that was only to cover up his wounded pride, and she tried to let him be angry with her. She tried to explain.

            “Ron, I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were talking about me I never would have gotten your hopes up like that. I just…you’re my best friend Ron, you and Harry are like the brothers to me.” She tried to apologize, cringing inwardly at just how lame this explanation sounded to her ears.

            “But you JUST said all those things about how ‘any girl would jump at the chance’, or was that just for my benefit?” he was getting angrier as each second passed.

            “No Ron. It was the truth. You are all those things and so much more, any girl WOULD be lucky to have you but right now, I don’t feel that way, not anymore.” She noticed her mistake. That last little bit of information, the ‘not anymore’ part, and Ron noticed it too.

            “What do you mean ‘not anymore’!?” his ears were red, as was his face, and his hands were clenched, his knuckles white as the fists sat in his lap.

            “Ron, I’m so sorry, but if you had said these words two years ago, hell even last year, I would have agreed before you’d finished speaking. I had a huge crush on you for the longest time. But I…I don’t know exactly, but I guess I just grew out of those feelings. After the Yule ball and all the drama that went on with that I just realized that we fight, and we fight badly. We’d never last in a relationship. We are too different anyway. And it’s more than that; I meant it when I said all those things about you, and when I said you are my best friend. Those things are all true, and I don’t want to risk losing the relationship we have; especially not in the midst of the war that is brewing around us.” She was trying really hard not to get angry with Ron but he was making it difficult. His tone made her skin crawl as it reeked with blame, blaming her for this. His next words would be the breaking point in her patience with him.

            “You just can’t let that Yule Ball thing go can you?!? So I was dumb, so I didn’t ask you. I thought we forgave each other.”

            “I did forgive you Ronald. But the facts are that back then you didn’t see me as a girl, anyone can attest to that, and you can say you didn’t think or you were a dumb person then, but that’s just it, you didn’t think and I was tired of you never noticing me.”

            “But if you had feelings why didn’t YOU say something!?”

            “Because you and I barely got through a day without fighting, because you and Harry were my only real friends for so long, and if I scared you off I’d be alone again, because it hurts when we fight like this and I can’t imagine what our fights would turn to if our relationship turned to something more.” She was panting, the faint pain in her chest and ribs returning as she struggled to regain the breath she’d lost.

            “But you don’t get to just decide what the best thing is for me. You don’t have that right.” He pointed a finger at her.

            “But I do have the right to grow up, to change my mind, and to do what makes ME happy. I never thought you like me and that was hard to swallow, but it was either sit there and suffer as your ego grew and you flittered about from girl to girl or get over you.”

            Ron opened his mouth to speak again, looking as if steam would soon billow out of his ears. But Madame Pomfrey threw open the doors and silenced him.

            “Mr. Weasley,” she chided, “you will not come here and harass my patients. Whatever issue you two seem to be having can be taken care once, and only once, Ms. Granger is back to one hundred percent. And seeing as this argument had already begun taking a toll on her energy, I suggest you leave and return to your common room for the night.” Ron couldn’t speak, he wanted to tell the older witch to shove off, but when he looked back at Hermione he saw what the nurse saw. Her face was flushed much like his, but her expression was pained, each breath a bit gaspy as she clutched one arm to her ribcage. He nodded and left, obediently.

            Hermione was still fuming as the nurse redressed her wounds and checked to makes sure she had not over exerted herself in any way. With that the nurse walked to her office, leaving Hermione alone to process the events of the afternoon. Ron would be fuming for a few days; any Harry would keep his distance out of loyalty to Ron. Everything she’d feared was going to happen was a very real possibility right now.

            She pushed those thoughts aside, levitating the stack of books and getting a start on her assignments. She had papers for each class, most of them two to three pages in required length. She worked until her fingers were stiff and sore, and her back situated oddly. Madame Pomfrey had turned in for the night but Hermione was determined to stay up. After the exhausting day she’d had all she wanted was to see Draco.

            He’d never been a real comforting type but talking things out with him made her feel better, and he seemed to feel better after talking to her about the things that were bothering him, well what he could tell her anyway. In the beginning that was all they did, talk about their problems and worries. Now they were slowly learning how to talk to each other, to comfort the other; it was slow, Draco couldn’t undo an entire upbringing of prejudices in one night and she understood that. But she felt that it was getting better, and if last night’s confession was anything, it was proof that he cared for her just as much as she did for him; a scary realization that stood in the forefront of her mind as she lost the war with her eyelids and eventually subsumed to sleep.


	4. His Confession

There were a few moments of dead silence, the soft sounds of Hermione’s breathing barely audible. Once he was sure she was asleep Draco stepped out from behind the wall he’d been using to hide from Hermione until she fell asleep. He’d been there since after dinner, being forced to watch the awful display that was the weasel’s broken ego. He knew, especially now, that he wouldn’t be able to help her; not with everything rumbling around in his head. He was in no state to comfort her after her idiotic friend’s harsh words.

            He’d convinced himself, while he hid in waiting, that it would be better for both of them if she got some sleep. It may have been selfish on his part but he was certain her stress levels were high enough without him and his inability to be comforting. He was determined to find out who attacked her, he was desperate for answers, and now, he was enraged by Weasels actions. Hermione was his. He mentally slapped himself, knowing that Hermione would like being thought of as property. But that didn’t make him any less annoyed watching the clumsy red head make a move on his girlfriend. But he had more important issues to worry about; Hermione had done enough to crush the weasel’s idiotic crush. Though he could have gone his entire life not knowing that she’d harbored a crush on him for as long as she had.

            Draco had spent the entire day listening to the gossip of the school, especially gossip in the Slytherin common room. But whoever had done it was keeping their lips sealed, at least for now. It was difficult to think of anyone, besides himself, that would have motive to attack her. Sure there were plenty of purebloods that wanted Potter and his friends but most of them would only talk about it, very few would act on those threats. There were also those who simply hated their muggle born classmates, especially Hermione Granger as she beat every single one of them in classes. These people would be more inclined to attack Granger but again, Slytherins were not action type people, they left that to the Gryffindors, they’d find some sneaky way to meet their ends.

            Draco was well aware that he would be the most likely suspect; rumors that he’d done it were already circling, even though he’d never spoken a word about the attack at all. Soon even the teachers would believe the rumors, and why not? He’d given them every reason to, fighting and harassing Potter, Weasley, and Granger throughout their entire Hogwarts careers.

            It might already be too late. He’d been questioned by Dumbledore already. The older wizard that he’d mocked and believed to be weak had pulled him into the office only a few hours earlier. Apparently Hermione had been able to recall bits and pieces of her memory, claiming that her attacker was a blond, Slytherin student. Naturally the teachers, through rumors and past experiences, came to suspect him. He did fit the description, what little she’d been able to give.

            It was maddening, having to sit there and listened to the old man talk. While he’d noticed the minute changes in Draco, Dumbledore couldn’t help the nagging suspicion that something was going on between Draco and Hermione. He truly didn’t think Draco would have done this but the other professors urged him to at least question the boy.  And that gave him a chance to speak with him privately. He noticed how the line of questioning regarding Miss. Granger had the boy fidgeting and made a light sweat break out on his forehead. Dumbledore had one question left for the boy.

            “Mr. Malfoy, I will tell you that I, personally, believe you are not the one who attacked Miss. Granger. But I can’t deny that you seem to be very effected by the entire event.” Draco took a breath, relived but still weary of the man’s question. “Other teachers will no doubt notice this reaction; they will chalk it up to guilt Draco. So I’m asking you now, what is your relationship with Miss. Granger?”

            The question took Draco off guard. Had he really been so obvious, was he really no better than Weasley, was he wearing his heart on his sleeve in the same way? Draco’s snide reply stuck in his throat, his head dropping to look at the floor. Draco didn’t even know when his throat became clear enough to speak again but suddenly he realized he was spilling everything. How he’d always teased her because he just couldn’t understand how a muggle born, someone he’d been taught to believe inferior, could best every single pure blood in every single subject. He admitted to having feelings for her, long before this year, he’d noticed her beauty at the Yule ball but he’d seen her intelligence and character in their first year. Initially he’d mocked her and her character. But as he slowly stepped out of his father’s shadow, and began think freely of the prejudices, he’d started to see her, who she really was. He’d seen beyond the brainy bookworm, to the girl that simply yearned for knowledge, beyond the practical member of her trio, to the protectiveness she had for her friends. He’d seen through her shield, he saw how much the mounting war frightened her, how through her fear she worried more about her family and friends than she did for herself.

            When he finally admitted how they’d come to their current situation he was breathing heavily, his face unnaturally flushed. She’d followed him, trailing after him in the abandoned first floor girl’s room. She’d seen him at his weakest, struggling to come to grips with the task he’d been given. When she’d made herself known he’d yelled, threatened her to try and make her leave, none of it worked. His threats were empty but hers were not. She threatened to go to the teachers if he didn’t tell her what was going on; she insisted she could help him.

            That was the thing that amazed him the most, how through all the years of suffering through his torment, she would still try to help him. He’d broken down, fallen to the floor as words spilled from his lips much like they were doing now in Dumbledore’s office. He’d been careful not to tell her everything, just that he would have to do something terrible before the year was out. That was in September, for five months they would talk, about anything and everything. They had a bond, an unspoken friendship formed between them. And he struggled to admit it to the older wizard, but a romantic bond formed between them in time.

            Dumbledore listened intently, letting the boy spill everything he needed to. He could hardly imagine the stress this boy was under, fighting to undo an upbringing that had cut him off from those that could help him. When Draco finished, his chest heaving but his shoulders seeming to have lost the weight of the secrets he’d been keeping. With a hand on the younger wizards shoulder, Dumbledore dismissed him; there were no words the older man could find to help the boy, no words of advice for what he was going through.

            Draco’s hands were still shaking from that confession.

 

 

 


	5. A Suspect

               Draco’s knuckles were white, he noticed and loosened the grip he had on the armrests of his armchair. He needed to get a grip on his emotion, people would soon notice the riled up look that was so uncharacteristic of any Slytherin student, the same look that had been plastered on his face for the past few days. He was trying to listen to the conversations going on in the Slytherin common room, several had made his ears perk at the mention of the attack on every Slytherin’s least favorite mudblood, Hermione Granger.

               All of the conversations were the same; one person would laugh about the misfortune that had fallen the know-it-all Gryffindor, the other would laugh along and then question if anyone knew who’d ‘put the girl in her place’.  Neither person would know the answer but they’d bat around ideas of who it might have been. The most popular theory by far was that the attacker had been none other than Draco Malfoy. Draco had to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from sneering each time he overheard the popular theory, he wasn’t keeping a calm facade, his attempt to read his potions textbook was futile and almost everyone in the common room was sure that his distracted behavior was proof that he’d attacked Granger.

               Draco slammed his book shut, making half the room jump at the sudden noise. There was a flicker, all eyes in the room flashed to him but quickly looked away. Though Draco had been acting strange his reputation still kept his housemates in line through fear. Fear of what Draco didn’t know, nor did he care, and he was relieved to have that power. No one in the common room dared to move as Draco made his way towards the stairs that led to his bed chamber. His robes billowed out behind him, his exit sparking life back into the common room, the conversations began again, the students even more sure that Draco was Hermione Granger’s attacker.

               The stairs that led to the bedrooms were long and winding down, further below the lake than any other part of the castle. It was cold and dank, ironically the founders found it reasonable to put the largest group of students used to high luxury and put them in the metaphorical basement of the school. Draco was alone in the stair well, the sound of dripping water and his footsteps on cold stone engulfing him. Suddenly there was another set of footsteps. They were light and fast paced, the huffing breath of another student projected ahead of him. Draco wasn’t aware of the footsteps until he was nearly tackled by the other student.

               “Watch it!” Draco sneered, knocking the younger student down as he pushed past. He wanted to make it clear that he was in no mood for any underclassman shenanigans.

               “S- s- sorry, Mr. Malfoy.” The boy got up quickly brushing the dust off his robes as he started walking off. Draco had taken a few steps past the boy but at the sound of the younger student’s footsteps he turned to look back.

               He recognized the boy as Michael Massimo. The younger student was a second or third year from a very old family, the pureblood family had been once involved with the Dark Lord but all of the older relatives were long dead or with one foot in the grave as they served sentences in Azkaban. Like any other archaic, pureblood family, just like Draco’s, he’d been taught the unforgivable curses, some other dark spells and hexes as well.

               Draco couldn’t help but watch the boy walk off. He bore a striking resemblance to the Malfoy family, same pale skin and platinum blond hair. He may have been a far off relative but the resemblance was there and indisputable. Draco thought about the boy, he was usually quiet but confident, not looking for trouble but his allegiances were clear to anyone. He sided so strongly with the dark lord that it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to join the ranks of the death eaters. But there was something off about him now. The look he’d given Draco as they passed in the stairway, the fidgeting and stuttering were so grossly out of place it was almost comical.  

               Draco started walking again, realizing it would not do to be found staring off into space. The boy was long gone and Draco needed to think. When he finally made it to his bed he cast charms, making it appear to anyone that he was asleep. He thought about everything, going over what Hermione’s statement had said, her description of her attacked. After an hour of thinking he resolved that the next morning he would find out what he already believed to be true.

In the last moments before he drifted off the sleep for real Draco pulled a small photograph from the breast pocket of his sleeping shirt. It was a magical picture, he’d found it in one of the books she’d lent him earlier. Hermione had told him all about the photo before telling him he could keep it if he wanted.

It was at the Burrow over this past summer, Hermione’s parents were visiting and Arthur Weasley had given Mr. Granger access to a magical camera. It was taken in the wee hours of the morning, so early that the only ones up were Mrs. Weasley, who could be seen cooking in the background, Mr. Granger, and Hermione herself. Her hair was pulled up, containing the sleep frazzled curls, and she was sprawled out on the couch in a pair of blue plaid short and a black tank top. In her hand was a worn book with a brown leather cover, engraved in gold lettering was the title of the book, “The Hobbit”. Hermione had told him all about the book, how it was the first magic she’d truly believed in before finding out she was a witch. He could tell that it was her favorite, the pages were worn and the edges of the cover blunted. The picture was moving but it was just a brief snapshot of her looking up from the book to see her father taking her picture. She blushed as she waved her father off with a hand, trying to hide behind the pages of the book. The smile that came on her face was something he’d hope to see for himself one day. It was a glimpse of her in a completely different setting, one he’d never had the chance to see. He folded the picture again, sliding it back into his pocket with another concealing charm to make sure no one found it accidentally. His eyes slid shut, a night of unrestful sleep ahead of him but he was certain tomorrow would yield answers to his questions.


	6. Confrontation

 Michael could feel the eyes of someone on his back. Like all Slytherin students he had a high awareness of those around him, mainly because one the defining Slytherin traits was self-preservation.  He cast his eyes over his shoulder but he couldn’t see anyone standing out from the crowd. Michael was well known for leaving the dining hall early each night. He’d planned to do the same tonight but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, it troubled him that he couldn’t pinpoint where the eyes that watched him came from. He’d stayed behind a bit longer than usual, feigning interest in what his classmates were talking about.

               After a few minutes with these classmates Michael felt as though he’d been tricked, the feeling of the eyes on him wavered and he decided to leave, packing his things up quickly as he slipped out of the doors of the great hall. There were groups of students collecting outside the great hall, others that left dinner early but had been caught by friends or were simply working on homework with students from other houses. It was more crowded than usual and Michael was forced to push his way past a rather large group of giggle girls who were going on and on about some quidditch player. He rolled his eyes as he passed and nearly jumped at the shrill shrieking of the girls. He was on edge, that was all; or at least that’s what he told himself.

               Michael shook his head, trying to rid himself of the childish fear that had a firm grasp of his shoulder, dragging him down. He stormed off, headed down to the dungeons in hopes for some silence. He didn’t check over his shoulder this time. If he did he wouldn’t have been surprised by what happened the second he and his shadow were out of earshot of the other students.

               Draco had struggled through the day, determined the return to his normal behavior. He knew Dumbledore knew the truth now but the other teacher certainly still suspected him, it wouldn’t do to help give that rumor momentum. But now he didn’t even try to cover up the smirk that turned the corners of his mouth up. During dinner Draco had paid off a first year to slip some veritaserum into Michael’s drink, the first year didn’t know what it was; Draco had told him it was a prank, something he’d picked up at the elder Weasley’s joke shop. Later Draco would obviate the boy but for now it wasn’t a concern to him.

               Draco’s footsteps were silent and his movements hushed. The smirk was still in place on his face, _one more turn_ Draco though keenly, eager to get the young boy to confess.

               Michael turned down another winding corridor, so close to the entrance of Slytherin house. Draco cleared his throat, the noise making Michael turn. Draco had watched his father intimidate many witches and wizards over the years, he was well versed in extortion through watching those encounters.

               Draco took two steps closer to the other boy, watching with malicious delight as Michael took one too many steps back until his back his the cold stone wall. Michael’s pale brown eyes darted, looking from Draco and then to either side of the corridor. No one was there to help him, not that any Slytherin student would go up against Draco Malfoy.

               Draco was only a foot or two from Michael when he finally spoke, his voice quiet yet still able to fill the small space between them, it echoed in Michael’s ears as he tried to respond.

               “You’ve been given a truth serum Michael.” Draco informed him, his grey eyes piercing and threatening as they bore down on the shorter boy. Draco saw words start to form on his prey’s lips but didn’t give him time to choke out the response.

               “You were the one who attacked Granger.” It wasn’t a question, Draco was sure of it but he wanted Michael to confirm it. He waited for a response but none came, “Well!” he made his voice boom in the narrow corridor, nearly making the poor boy wet himself.

               “Y- yes! I did it.” Michael clapped his hands over his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself, the words sprung from his mouth like a damn had burst.

               “Yes, I thought you did.” Draco used the same bored tone his father did, knowing firsthand how it messed with a person’s mind. “Why?” Draco wasn’t here to play games, he’d done enough to turn the boy into a sniveling child.

               “She’s a mudblood. She shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t deserve to walk the same halls or to wield a wand the same as purebloods. She shouldn’t know about the wizarding world at all. She’s insufferable and a know-it-all. They only thing she doesn’t know is just how unworthy she is of walking the same halls as people like you and me. Slughorn thinks she’s so _special_ , tried to have _her_ tutor me. What does that filthy mudblood know about anything magical, and what right does she have to teach anyone; she could learn a thing or two from purebloods, like silence, or compliance?!”   

               Draco wanted to hit the boy, wanted to silence him for saying such things. But he couldn’t, he was spouting the same garbage Draco himself had held in reverence for most of his life. The boy _was_ him, just a few years younger and even more unlikely than Draco to change his ways. He’d been fed the same prejudices, the same taunts. The same sense of entitlement had been engraved in both of them. Was there really a difference between them, was Draco really any better than Michael? He’d thought all the same things about Hermione, even worse, he’s told her a fair deal of those thoughts when they were younger.

               Draco was so lost in the moral crisis that was currently brewing in his mind that he didn’t notice Michael stop talking. He nearly jumped, though he hid it well, when Michael spoke to him.

               “Why do you care? Frankly I’m surprised you of all people wouldn’t be applauding me.” Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. One of the problems with truth serum was that now Michael couldn’t stop speaking whatever he was really thinking. Draco had to think, quickly, for a reason to tell the boy.

               “Well, your little stunt has caused me some trouble.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, it was a threatening smile that had Michael trying to back up again. Draco took another few steps, he was no far too close for comfort.

               “If you want to live long enough to see the Dark Lord do away with muggles I suggest you stop being so obvious about your actions. If teachers keep accusing me someone at the ministry might start to look closer. If that happens than I assure you, I won’t leave you alive like you did Granger, I’ll do it the right way and leave nothing left of you to find.” Draco’s words were hissed into the boy’s ear. With a small flick of his want Michael was unconscious, Draco levitated his body so it looked like he’d just fallen asleep on the nearby bench. Without another word Draco was off, down the hall.

               He had the proof now, a simple memory would show Dumbledore the culprit. It wouldn’t take long to detain the boy, he’d confess under the pressure, and Hermione would be safe for a bit longer.

               Draco couldn’t help the drop in his stomach. Hermione might be safe from Michael, but there were still literally hundreds of people who believed that she shouldn’t be allowed a wand or magical abilities. Many would be willing to kill her if given the opportunity. She wouldn’t be safe. Not as long at the Dark Lord still had a holding, not as long as his followers still spouted the archaic beliefs of blood purity.

               Draco couldn’t protect her forever, when the war did start he wouldn’t be able to watch over her. He’d be forced into the ranks of the Death Easters, solely to keep his mother and himself from suffering at the Dark Lord’s hands. Hermione would follow Potter and Weasley, he knew that would always happen. If they agreed on one thing concerning her idiotic friends, it was that they would never get far without her. They never would have made it this far without her.

               Whether he liked it or not, Hermione would face Death Eaters. She wouldn’t back down and she would only stop rebelling when she was dead. The thought of her, cold, lifeless, made Draco physically ill. He ducked into a prefect bathroom. His stomach lurched as he used the sink for support. When he finally stopped dry heaving, he’d barely eaten since Hermione was put in the infirmary, he splashed some cold water on his face. He looked up into the mirror.

Right then he cursed his life, his upbringing, everything his family had stood for, everything he’d ever said. He wanted nothing more than to go back, to renounce everything he’d ever been told to believe. He longed to have the good judge of character that Potter had in their first year. He wished he’d let the sorting hat put him in Gryffindor like it wanted to. But the Slytherin part of him won out, he knew if his father found out he wasn’t in Slytherin he’d be severely beaten. There was that self-preservation, the most underrated but yet most common Slytherin trait.

Draco looked the same as he did last time he’d escaped into this bathroom. But so much had changed since then. His white-blond hair was still a mess as it hung in his face. But now it had felt nimble fingers wind their way through it, leaving it a different kind of mess. His eyes were still tired and resembled cold steel. But they’d softened at times, whenever he’d seen Hermione blissfully unaware of his gaze; he knew now that they could become cool pools of silver. His skin was still pale and almost appeared sickly. But in between he’d felt the flush in his cheeks, the rosy color looking entirely out of place on a Malfoy’s face, but yet it looked right, like the way a collection looked once the final piece had been found.

If he knew anything now that he hadn’t known last time he’d looked into this mirror, it was that Hermione Granger was incredibly good for him. Too good, so good that no amount of renouncing his old ways or trying to change would ever make him worthy of her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hope you enjoyed seeing that confrontation between Draco and Michael – reminder Michael is supposed to be like three years younger and Draco has a reputation so that’s why Michael is so jumpy around him. Always thought that Draco would learn how to intimidate and extort from watching his dad, but he’d do it sparingly because he knows how it feels. I thought a lot about having Draco physically attack Michael but I didn’t think if fit his character, plus Draco needed to seem unconcerned with Hermione and that reaction would have shown that he had some sort of feelings for her. Please review, any and all comments are welcome and will keep me writing and updating faster.


	7. A Promise He Will Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Ginny in this chapter and a lot of fluffy Dramione

Ron didn’t visit Hermione again after their argument. Harry and Ginny came in the next morning, Ginny was fuming, and she bashed Ron for the first few minutes of their visit. Harry just sat on the other side of Hermione’s bed and shook his head, well aware that his best mate had once again mucked things up. Harry had to run off to work on some project that was due the next morning, Hermione was thankful, now more than ever, for her tendency to get things done as soon as they were assigned. She’d nagged Harry and Ron to get their projects done but like all the times before her advice went unheeded.

               Ginny stayed with Hermione, she said she needed someone to study with her but Hermione knew Ginny just wanted to gossip some more, probably bash Ron some more or talk about her still prevalent, childhood crush on Harry.

               “So…” The red head began, pulling a herbology textbook out of her bag, “still no idea who attacked you?” Hermione wasn’t expecting to have a serious conversation but she couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved that someone asked her about it, unlike everyone else who preferred to act like it hadn’t happened.

               Hermione shook her head, leaning forward to peer over the edge of the open textbook in Ginny’s lap, curious if the younger girl was actually going to study.

               “You know what everyone thinks don’t you?” Hermione almost didn’t hear the question, she caught the last stitch of it and looked at her friend with wide brown eyes as she shook her head no a second time. “Everyone saying it was Malfoy.” The look in her eyes was easy to read, she was looking for confirmation, was it him or wasn’t it?

               “No, it wasn’t D- Malfoy. The boy who attacked me didn’t show his face. Malfoy would want me to know it was him, if it had been. He gets off on that type of control and fear.”

               “I figured as much, if it’d been Malfoy you would know and would have accused him right away. It’s just like the chamber of secrets all over again.” Hermione looked at her friend, the blasé statement about the year the youngest Weasley had been under the control of the dark lord. Ginny hardly ever talked about her first year.

“What? All I’m saying is a muggle-born is hurt and everyone is sure it’s Malfoy, even the teachers. They made Dumbledore question him but he told the teachers that Malfoy had an alibi and couldn’t possibly have attacked you.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I listen, something neither you, Harry, or my idiot brother seem to have mastered.” Ginny shot her friend a sly smile over the top of her book before focusing back on the text in her book. Hermione smiled but quickly hid the smirk. Hermione and Ginny were unlikely friends but neither of them had a closer girl friend.

               Draco was standing just inside of a secret passage that he’d found fifth year. He couldn’t see Hermione or youngest Weasley, but he could hear the girls’ conversation, the serious topic quickly turned playful. He had to admire Ginny Weasley, despite the influences of her normally idiotic older brothers, she turned out rather wise and level-headed. He could feel the ease of the two girls’ relationship, how conversation flowed easily between to two. Arguments were calm debates with Ginny, unlike Ron, allowing Hermione’s side to be heard before giving another opinion. It was refreshing to see at least one of Hermione’s friends actually listened to her.

               Draco listened to the girls’ conversation for a few minutes before silently sliding down the wall till he was sitting on the slightly dusty floor. He sat there for a while just listening, the impatience he’d felt earlier was slipping away as he listened to Hermione’s voice as she talked freely and without filters. It was nice to hear her voice, it flowed like honey and surrounded him. His eyes were heavy and the lack of sleep was wearing on him, her sweet voice was lulling and soothing his troubled mind. He had no control over the ease at which his eyelids fell closed.

               It was sometime later when Draco woke up, looking around the door of the passage he’d slept in he read the large clock that hung on the far wall. It was nine at night. He’d slept through lunch and was missing dinner. Luckily he didn’t have any classes. Stepping out of the passageway he saw that no one was in the infirmary besides Hermione and himself, Madame Pomfrey was most likely at dinner with the rest of the school. Hermione hadn’t noticed him, her face was stuck in a small worn novel.

               He cleared his throat and repressed the smile that tried to overcome his face when she looked up to find him. Her eyes were alight with curiosity and the unrestrained smile on her face left him in a hazy state of mind.

               “Draco.” She called him over with a wave of her hand, the book snapping shut. He walked over to her and sat on the edge of her bed. The two didn’t speak, Hermione smiled at him and reached her hand out. Her hand was warm against his, her fingers twisting with his. Draco was still in a bit of a haze but his thumb still moved reflexively, rubbing the back of her hand. Hermione could see the distant look in his eyes and gave him time. She lifted their joined hands, bringing her other hand off her lap to hold his hand between hers. Gently she gave each knuckle a small kiss, just a light brush of her lips against his skin. She smiled just a bit wider at the appearance of raised gooseflesh on his arm. She laid his hand in her lap and ran her fingers over the pale, raised skin on the back of his hand and his arm.

               Draco could feel the intricate patterns being drawn across his skin, the trimmed nails scratched gently, leaving a tingling sensation and raised skin on his flesh. He watched her, her focus completely on the patterns her hands were drawings on him. He let a smile grace his lips, a genuine smile formed by love and contentment. Not the smirk at someone’s misfortune or the cackle he’d shared with his housemates over the years. Still not fully in control of his actions he leaned forward.

               He placed a cool, soft kiss on her forehead. His free hand went to her chin, gripping it gently and lifting her face. He trailed kisses down her nose until he reached her lips. Her eyes slipped close as their lips connected. Draco’s hands slid to rest on her hips, pulling her onto his lap in a desperate manner. His hands gripped the small of her back as his lips became rough against hers. Hermione’s hands fisted his hair, the sleek blond hairs slipping through her fingers.

               It had been a long time since they’d kissed with such passion. It was different from their usual kisses, which were soft and timid. This was wild and had both teenagers feeling a knot form in the stomach.

               Hermione felt Draco leaning forward again, dipping her so she laid on her back on the hospital bed. His hands brushed her bangs off her forehead and kissed every inch of her face before gliding his lips down her jaw and throat. Hermione gasped as his teeth nipped the delicate skin of her neck. Her hands slid under his shirt and her nails scratched, leaving faint red lines down his back. Draco sucked harder on the spot on her neck, ignited again by her nails scratching along his back.

               Draco’s tongue swept over the mark he’d left on her threat, soothing the redness. Hermione’s fingers ran through his hair while her other hand gripped his shoulder. Draco kissed her lips one final time, noticing how her eyelids were struggling to stay open. He rest his head against her shoulder, a hand running through her tangled curls. Her breathing slowed and he listened to her pulse as it slowed and she drifted to sleep.

               Draco sat back up, pulling the thin sheet over her body. He cast a concealing charm to cover his love bite. The clock rang in the background, signaling that it was now eleven. It wasn’t often the two spend time together in silence, the relationship was built mostly on their conversations and banter. They spent most of the time they were together debating things or explaining things to each other. Draco would tell her stories of pureblood families and all the traditions they had followed though his life. Hermione would explain muggle things, which surprisingly interested Draco greatly. Hermione was convinced, and had told him on many occasions, that he and Mr. Weasley shared the same curiosity into muggle objects. Draco would always crack a smile at the obscene image of himself and Mr. Weasley ever getting along. He would never admit that deep in his heart he longed to be able to sit and talk with her friends and family. He leaned down one final time,

               “I found him Hermione. He confessed, he won’t get away with this. I promised I’d get him, and I did it. He won’t hurt you again, and if I can help it, no one else ever will.” He kissed her cheek before disappearing into the secret passage he’d come through.

               He knew the promise he’d just made was one he couldn’t keep. If it came to it, he’d be helpless, unable to save her. But for the first time, he knew, without a doubt, that if it came to it, he would stand between her and the Dark Lord if he had to.


	8. Out Of The Infirmary

Hermione woke up the next morning anxious. Today Madame Pomfrey was going to allow her to leave the medical wing. It was Sunday and Hermione would have the chance to take things easy before classes started again Monday morning. She could feel the slight plumpness in her lips from last night and the bruise on her neck. Reaching up she moved her fingers lightly over the blue/purple mark, smiling softly to herself as she reflected on the night before. Pulling herself out of the daze before she was too far gone Hermione aimed her wand at her neck and muttered a glamor charm to cover the mark, it wouldn’t do to have people asking her all day about the love bite.

               Hermione began to hum quietly as she got out of bed and began collecting her things. The infirmary was quiet, the line of beds beside hers were all made with clean white linens, tucked neatly under the mattresses. Madame Pomfrey was in her office, scribbling on a pad of paper as slow orcastra music played through the enchanted radio. It was peaceful and Hermione felt at ease, she just felt safe, like nothing could hurt her.

               Dumbledore could feel the pair of grey eyes follow his every move throughout breakfast. The steely gaze cut clear across the great hall. Dumbledore easily followed the gaze, finding Draco Malfoy at the root of the intensity. Piercing blue met resolute grey and an understanding was made.

               They met an hour later in Dumbledore’s office. The old wizard folded him boney frame into a chair behind his desk as he motioned the student towards the cushioned chair in front of the desk.

               “Tell me Draco, what brought us to the meeting?” He folded his pale, wrinkled hands in front of him, uncurling the thin fingers before putting them palm down on the cool wood of his desk.

               “I know who did it, I know who attacked Hermione Granger.” Draco stood before the desk, he’d turned down the seat. Dumbledore let out a breath, a bit relieved to hear that the culprit was discovered.

               “I assume some truth serum was used? I find it unlikely that the truth would come willingly from someone brazen enough to attack one of Hogwarts most talented witches.” Draco nodded. “Please use the pensive, your memory of his confession will be needed to arrest him.” Dumbledore waved his wand at the small cabinet that hid the pensive.

               Draco moved to stand before the pensive, he touched the tip of his wand to his temple but stopped abruptly.     

               “Professor, I can’t have people know that I was the one that turned in Hermione’s attacker.” He turned to face Dumbledore again, “If people find out that Hermione and I… they will go after her, they’d kill us both without a second thought. I can’t put her in that type of danger.” He waited, his patience wearing very thin, for the answer. He wanted, desperately to have her attacker face justice, what little there was left, but he couldn’t haphazardly throw her into the cross-hairs, not over something that was so unconnected to the war that was brewing around them.

               “I will alter it to leave out your identity. The sheer memory of his confession will be enough. Michael is not a death eater, he will cave under questioning from an Auror. I will take care of it.” Draco nodded, stiffly, he hoped he hadn’t misplaced his trust in his headmaster.

               The liquid in the pensive was a deep cold pool of dark blue, swirling towards the center where the lighter pigment collected. Raising his wand to his temple once more, feeling the resistance as the memory slipped through his skin. A chill went down his spine as the memory left his temple. With a twitch of his wrist he flicked the memory into the pensive, casting it away from him.

               There was a small ping in the water, the memory slipping under the surface of the liquid. The lighter shade of the memory swirled amid the dark blue pools.

               Draco physically jumped at the sensation behind him. Dumbledore was standing beside him, a hand on the boys shoulder. The older man nodded slowly as both leaned forward over the lip of the pensive, falling deep into the memory that was just cast into it.

               The Gryffindor table was hushed, lunch was an awkward and silent affair, or at least it was for the golden trio and their friends. Ron refused to speak to Hermione, his temper no longer flaring but slow embers till burned from before. Hermione had tried speaking to him, but she refused to apologize. Harry and Nevil were just trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire while Ginny was determined to stare down Ron until he turned to dust under the pressure of her gaze.

               Hermione was itching to go find Draco, he wasn’t in the Great Hall, but she couldn’t just abandon her friends so soon after getting out of the infirmary. She was holding a quite conversation with Ginny while Ron and Harry played a rather vicious match of wizard’s chess, Nevil watched in silence. The small section of the table that was usually filled with chatter and laughter, but today the lines had been drawn. Neither side knew how long this would last. As much as Harry and Nevil agreed with Hermione, both could sympathize with what Ron was feeling.

               Lunch period drug on in silence, Ginny could tell by Hermione’s unfocused gaze and nodding that something was still up with her. Hermione’s eyes glanced all around the great hall, but the person she was searching for was nowhere to be seen. Often she’d make eye contact, just for a second, with one of Draco’s friends. They’d sneer at her and she’d have to look away quickly, pretending to be offended by the action, in reality she hadn’t been bothered by their dirty looks for years.

               Still cloaked in the uncomfortable silence, the group left the great hall. Hermione ran off towards the library, insisting that she had too many things to catch up on while simultaneously turning down Ginny’s offer to accompany her. With her big bag slung over her shoulder Hermione wandered down the sparsely populated corridors towards the library. She wouldn’t go waste time seeking out Draco now, if he was looking for her he’d come to the library. And she did actually have work to catch up on anyway.

               When she arrived the library was mostly empty, just a few of the more studious Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were there, familiar faces. It was still early on Sunday and the procrastinators would be filing in after dinner that night, hoping to somehow complete all the homework they’d put off till that moment. Ron and Harry would be among those procrastinators. Hermione was determined to get her work done so she wouldn’t have to sit in the awkward silence again when Ron and Harry turned up at the table the three always occupied.

               Seriously hoping that Draco would seek her out in the library Hermione went all the way to the back of the library, taking the smaller table. It had been pushed against the large window, sitting at it Hermione could take a moment every once and a while to gaze out over the scenery of her magical home between homework assignments.

               Hogwarts was truly Hermione’s home in the magical world. Nothing could ever wipe away the memories of her childhood home with her parents, the muggle world was just as much a part of her as the magical world. Hogwarts was her home just as much as her parent’s house. Although the memories that seeped through every crack and crevice in each home were all sacred, they were drastically different memories.

               Hermione settled in to the familiar seat, spreading out her work until it covered every inch of the wooden table. Within minutes she had falling into her routine, at the pace she was moving all the work she needed to catch up on would be done with before dinner.

               Draco left Dumbledore’s office in a hazy state, watching his memory with Dumbledore had left him drained. Dumbledore’s advice was to go sleep it off, maybe stop by the kitchen to grab lunch. Draco agreed, quickly finding his way to the kitchen. Pushing into the kitchen he was quickly surrounded by the multitude of house elves that kept the kitchen stocked and made sure enough food was available for the hundreds of students. And they were always ready to help out a student that might have missed a meal. Dobby was the first one to come up to him.

               “Mister Draco Malfoy, what brings you to the kitchens?” he asked with his wide eyes looking up at him and his long ears flopping as he tilted his head in a questioning manner.

               “I got caught up doing schoolwork and missed lunch. If it’s alright with you I’d just like to make myself a sandwich and get back to my work.” Draco could see the way Dobby’s thin lips quirked up in the hint of a smile, why though he couldn’t understand.

               “Say no more, I will get you your sandwich.” Dobby announced, jumping onto the counter and walking quickly to gather all of the supplies. On a plate he laid one soft piece of white bread, layered on top were alternating slices of ham and cheese. A vibrant green piece of lettuce was added and then topped with a second slice of bread. Draco moved forward, reaching out for the plate. But he withdrew his hand as Dobby shooed it away, not done yet.

               Taking a knife in his thin hands Dobby methodically cut the crusts off the bread and sliced the sandwich diagonally. Dobby then took the plate and handed it to Draco, giving him a small smile.

               Draco took a seat at the small table that had been set up for students like him, Dobby followed taking the seat next to him. Draco was still marveling at the sandwich on the plate before him. It was the same sandwich he’d eaten as a child, the sandwich he’d always thought his mother made for him. It was exactly the same as he remembered. Taking a bite he was thrown back in time, remembering the summer afternoons he’d spend at the manor eating sandwiches just like this.

               “Dobby… thank you.” Draco spoke, after finishing half of the sandwich.

               “You’re very welcome.” Dobby smiled his lopsided grin as he walked back to the other elves to help get dinner ready. Draco watched him, looking between the thin elf and the perfectly made sandwich.

               “You made these for me. When I was younger.” Draco said it quietly, Dobby turned and nodded towards the boy whose family used to own him. “I always thought mother made them for me. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it was you.” Draco smile sadly at the house elf, feeling guilt over all the years of abuse that Dobby had endured when the Malfoy family owned him.

               “Mister Draco. Your mother did make you sandwiches, but you didn’t like the ones she made. She wanted you to have a good memory of her as your mother. I taught her how to make them but she never could make it quite right. She thought she was making your sandwiches but I would always switch it out so she would think it was her sandwiches you loved so much.” Dobby confessed to Draco, hoping he understood the meaning behind the story.

               Draco nodded again, slowly getting up, the second half of the sandwich in his hand. He left the kitchen with a quite goodbye. He made his way to the library, hoping to find Hermione. He needed her advice. The information Dobby had just told him had torn his one pleasant childhood memory to shreds, exposing it to the harsh light of reality. Draco could now understand the loyalty of the house elves. Dobby had been abused, his family as well, by the Malfoy family. But he still retained loyalty enough to make sure that Draco’s mother thought she was doing best for her son, and she was trying to. He made the one good memory from Draco’s childhood possible.

               Once again Draco’s entire process of thinking, everything he thought he’d known, had been turned upside down. Popping the last bite of sandwich into his mouth he savored it for a moment and then slipped into the library, heading straight to the back where he hoped to find the girl that had first turned his world upside down.   


	9. Sunday Afternoon, In The Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some T/M (idk it’s just like typical overactive sex drive of a teenage boy) suggestive stuff

 Draco’s prediction had been correct. He’d found Hermione exactly where he’d thought she’d be. Sitting at the small back table that looked out at the huge window, giving whoever sat there a picturesque view of the rolling landscape of the Hogwarts grounds.

               He caught her between assignments, the few moments she took, allowing herself to breathe and her mind to stall, as she gazed out the window. Her brown eyes were large as she stared past the library window, past the rolling hills that surrounded Hogwarts, past the magical barrier that separated platform 9 ¾ from the muggle world, past the bustling muggle streets and into the home where her parents. He could see it in her eyes, the memories that flashed behind her dark lashes when she would tell him about her childhood. The same glistening spark flashed in her eyes now and Draco couldn’t help watching her a bit longer. She was always on high alert, and in some ways he was thankful for this, but he longed for the moments when he could catch her unaware of his presence, when she was free and most expressive.

               The quill in her hand dangled loosely, her grip had slipped as her mind became occupied with something more important than a school assignment. For a split second he considered leaving her to her work, knowing how she hated to put things off. He could clearly remember the day they spent searching the corridors for a student’s pet frog. They’d come to a truce at that point, they were uneasy friends but friends all the same. They never did find the frog, days later they discovered that the student had accidentally casted a camouflage spell on it, making it blend in to its tank. But neither of them had minded being sent on the pointless search, they’d spent the night asking questions.

Back and forth they would ask and answer. Some questions were innocent, ‘what is your favorite class’ or ‘how do you make your tea’. Others were harder to answer, for both of them, ‘why are you friends with them’ or ‘what did you want to be when you grew up’. One of the ones that was hardest for Hermione to answer was meant to be a harmless joke, poking at her bookworm nature. ‘Why do you take schoolwork so seriously?’ He said it was a lightness that felt out of place coming of his lips but also tasted so sweet.

She stopped walking, looking at her feet as blushing red overcame her cheeks. ‘It’s sill.’ She claimed trying to suppress the blush. ‘When I first got to Hogwarts someone who knew I was muggle-born told me if I didn’t do well in my classes they’d make me leave.’ She shrugged, her eyes still on her feet. ‘Hogwarts was the first place I didn’t feel like an outcast. I wasn’t the only one who had made something unexplainable happen because of their magical abilities. I didn’t want to go back.’

Draco couldn’t quite see her eyes but he could guess that they were sad, he decided to try something he’d always failed at as a child, something he’d given up trying to do; he tried to cheer her up. ‘Well you showed that person wrong, you’re top of all the classes and are more talented than most pure-bloods.’

She let out a short laugh, the blush returning to her cheeks after she’d tried to hide her embarrassment. Draco felt something swell in his chest, a bit of pride. Not the misplaced and misguided pride his father had taught him. It was an innocent pride that coupled with the lightness in his stomach made him feel almost giddy. They’d continued their search, more interested in the questions they continued asking. Hermione asked him about all the pureblood traditions and hierarchy. Draco asked about muggle technology, his father had made it that he never took Muggle studies and he hadn’t learned even the basics of the muggle world. Hermione might never tell him, but there was a question that had been poised on her lips the entire time, dying on her tongue when they parted ways. She felt the question etched in the bite mark left on her lips as she made her way back to the Gryffindor common room, ‘why does blood matter?’

That question was never asked by Hermione, but Draco had asked himself that question every time he noticed something new about Hermione. Her incorrigible interest in every subject Hogwarts had to offer, the way she longed to learn more than her textbooks could ever teach her. How she tried harder to perfect her technique than any other student, pureblood or not, ever had. How easily she embraced the magical world when she’d been told all through childhood that witches and wizard were just Halloween costumes and that Dragons and elves were just fairy tale creatures. Why should her blood matter when she embraced the magical world in such a way, letting it wash over and engulf her.

Back in the present Hermione had returned to her schoolwork, though her fear of being kicked out had slipped away the studious habit was ingrained in her and she was too far gone to even try and change now. She didn’t want to though, her grades were easy to maintain with this habit, and it meant she had time to help her friends do theirs and just bask in the glory of not having to run to the library after Sunday’s dinner to crank out a paper or project. Hermione had actually finished all the work that was due, she only had one paper left to write and it had been assigned Friday and wasn’t due until next week. She eyed it, her fingers tapping the parchment, before slipping it back in her bag with all of the work she’d completed thus far. The paper could wait. She let her hair fall out of her ponytail she’d shoved it into haphazardly when she’d first walked into the library.

Draco was feeling like a bit of a creep standing just outside of her peripheral vision watching her. But he didn’t want to miss seeing what she would do next. It wasn’t often that the brightest witch of her age left work undone. He watched, curious, as she let her hair fall out of the elastic band, the smell of honey and mint wafting towards him, beckoning him forward. Her hands moved, her fingers slipping through her hair, getting caught momentarily on an unmanaged curl. Her eyes closed and she let her head fall back, her back arching away from the back of the chair, the curve delicate and inviting. Draco tried to ignore the way her stretching, arching her back, had thrust her chest up a bit and pulled the material of her sweater just a bit tighter, clinging to every womanly curve. He was not successful, he failed miserably at ignoring the erotic positon her stretching put her in but with all his will power he couldn’t stop the rush of blood heading south or the way his pants got tighter with each passing moment. It was too much when she let out the mew as the muscles in her neck and shoulders loosened.

“Enjoying the view, Malfoy?” Hermione mocked him quietly from where she sat, her eyes still closed and a smile on her pretty lips.

“Cute Granger.” He replied, smoothly hiding the fact that he could barely form words into a sentence. Her smile got wider. She laid her head on the desk, cushioned by her left arm. Her right arm reached out towards him, her fingers stretching as far as they could reach. When she could reach no further she made a grasping motion with her hand. Draco just looked at her, confused but slightly amused. When he didn’t come over to her she opened her eyes, her head still on the desk as she made a soft whine, “Draco, come ‘ere.”

Hermione had learned that Draco couldn’t stand whining, he couldn’t listen to it and would eventually cave to get her to stop whining. And, as usual, she was right. Draco gave in and walked over to the table, taking her hand in his and bringing to his lips. He kissed each knuckle, remembering well how those knuckles felt against his skin. The two let out a soft chuckle, both looking towards the other for an explanation as to why they laughed.

“Third year.” They answered together, memories of her passion turned violent and how it felt to be hit physically. Draco had grown up know the hurt of a hex or a curse but a punch, that was a muggle attack that he was not prepared for, especially from the nerdy girl he’d bullied for three years.

“I was such a prat.” Draco announced, taking the other seat at the table. Hermione was still giggling, somehow the absurdity of Draco kissing the knuckles that had given him a bloody nose was extremely hilarious. She nodded, seeing the guilty smile that he thought she never noticed. It appeared anytime something from their past history was brought up.

“Yeah, you were. But you aren’t anymore.” She smiled at him, looking at him and trying to imagine how he remembered things. She brought their still joined hands up to his face and brushed the blond fringe back. “You’re in need of a haircut Mr. Malfoy.” She teased.

Draco’s nose wrinkled at the title, preferring not to think about his father, not when his mind had been so blissfully clouded by thoughts of Hermione only moments before.

“It wasn’t really a priority over the holiday.” He remembered all too well how unimportant his growing hairline had been. The house elves cowered around him family, and after spending the fall with Hermione, he didn’t have the heart to order them around like he knew he was expected to. He spent the holiday in his room or in silence at his father’s side.

Hermione noticed how his eyes grew dark and stormy as his mind drifted away from the present. She saw the stirrings of anger and fear and hatred mixing in the storm clouds of his eyes. Bravely she stood from her seat, without caution, and sat on his lap. Her legs dangled over the side and her head leaned against his chest, her arms pressed between them as they tugged at his white shirt.

She remembered sitting like this with her father, though the top of her head was nowhere near high enough to graze her father’s chin, and her legs didn’t dangle just inches from the floor. When she sat on her father’s lap he was comforting her. Sitting on Draco’s lap, something that still felt new and strange but so right all at once, she was comforting him. She didn’t know what was bothering him, she could guess, but she knew he wouldn’t tell. He tried to shelter her from the dangers that surrounded his family, convinced himself and tried to convince her that if she didn’t know about it, it didn’t’ exist and couldn’t hurt her.

She wanted him to open up to her, to tell her everything. She would help him, she would make sure no harm came to him. But that was a childish dream, everyone knew war was coming, it was on the doorstep with its fist raised to the door, and the magical world was just waiting for the knock to come.

Draco wouldn’t leave his family. He knew very well that he could walk away, his father would call him a traitor and his mother would cry but neither would be stop him. He had every bit of confidence in what Hermione had offered him once, a safe place, and protection among the order. But he refused to take the easy way out. He would not leave his mother to suffer alone because she choose to stand by her husband, no matter how violent he got or how he threw the family into turmoil. He wouldn’t abandon her for doing what she thought would keep her family safe.

Hermione couldn’t watch him, couldn’t watch the storm that would only build in his eyes. The storm would never come, all the anger he felt could never be released upon those that deserved it. She willed the dampness in her eyes away but the tears fell without permission. It was the dampness on his shirt that made the storm clouds in his eyes part and disappear.

In his lap was a teary-eyed girl he would never be good enough for, there was no communion enough to wipe away the evil he would have to do. Nothing would ever wash the sins from his skin, each new atrocity would only darken the mark that he’d kept hidden from everyone, including Hermione. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes when they would eventually be forced to gaze upon the mark that symbolized everything she fought against.

That Sunday afternoon, Hermione squeezing Draco’s waist as she tried to stifle the tears, and Draco’s arms wrapping around her hitching shoulders as the only act of protection he could ever give her. That afternoon, hidden in the back of the library, the two wore their hearts on their sleeves, silently communicating all their fears. That afternoon, someone saw them in their bare and vulnerable states.


	10. Friday Night Patrol

The next week was quiet, a sense of normalcy returned to the students at Hogwarts. The whispers about who had attacked Hermione Granger stopped. Draco had told her about the confession and how Dumbledore was going to take care of it. No one even batted an eye at the disappearance of the blond Slytherin student, these days more and more families were pulling their students out of Hogwarts. As far as everyone was concerned, the week had passed without anything of importance occurring.

               By Friday Hermione was certain that things were on their way back to normal with her friends. Ron was slowly getting more comfortable around Hermione again, no apology came for the way he acted, but she didn’t expect one. Ron would probably never admit that he was wrong, but she had to be the adult in this friendship. He was still a bit cautious around her when they were left alone but it was getting better at least, and as much as Hermione wanted to talk to Ron about what had happened, she was eager to get things back to their version of normal.

               Hermione was in the Gryffindor common room after dinner that Friday, it was the first time all week that she’d been left alone. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had surrounded her in an attempt to get things back to normal but they all had Quidditch practice tonight, the game Saturday afternoon against Slytherin was highly anticipated. For the first time she wouldn’t have to make up a thinly veiled excuse to get away.

               She had barely gotten any work done since dinner, the essay due next week was just not happening at the moment. Vanishing her books back to her dormitory and pulling her sweater back on she set out towards the Great Hall, where she was to meet up with her patrol partner. She was supposed to patrol with Ron but that had been changed because of the impromptu practice. She hadn’t found out who was replacing Ron but she wasn’t overly concerned, whoever it was had lucked out. She was in no mood or mindset to patrol around ruining her classmates’ Friday night. Hermione just wanted to be done with patrols for the night so she could try and unwind

               Thursday was when Ron was told of the extra Quidditch practice, not sure if he should praise or criticize Harry for scheduling the practice at the same time as his rounds with Hermione. He needed to find someone to cover his patrol with her and the idea that came to him was nearly enough to make him forget the whole thing. But he scrounged up that Gryffindor courage and took action.

               He knew the Slytherin team had their last practice tonight and would be leaving the pitch around nine. Hopefully the person he needed to find would be among the rival team. As the green cloaked players walked past he scanned the aristocratic faces for one. He ignored the snickers and comments that were made in his direction, finally catching the sliver eyes of the prefect he’d been looking for.

               “Malfoy.” Ron stopped him, ignoring the spark of anger that started as he endured more jabs at his house, his family, and himself that came from the Slytherin Quidditch team.

               “What is it Weasley?” Draco sneered at the ginger, waving his housemates off.

               “It’s about patrol tomorrow night.”

               “What about it?” Draco was in no mood to talk to Ronald Weasley right now, he still hadn’t forgiven him for leaving Hermione alone on rounds earlier that term.

               “I need you to cover for me on patrols tomorrow night.”

               “Why would I help you Weasel?” Draco countered, slightly impressed that Weasley would ask him for help, but he’d never admit that anything about Weasel would ever impress him.

               “Because my patrol partner is Hermione, and I can’t let her patrol alone a second time.” Ron countered back, unsure where the quick reasoning came from but watching Draco’s reaction closely. Draco tried to control his reaction, not wanting to give away anything. He couldn’t agree to help Weasel too quickly or even the thick headed ginger would notice that something was off.

               “Why can’t you patrol with her?”

               “Harry scheduled a last minute practice tomorrow night.” Ron explained.

               “Why should that matter to me, why don’t you just miss practice.” Draco suggested, the competitive side of him was curious as to why the Gryffindor team needed the extra time.

               “If I tell you why will you help me?” Draco nodded, hesitating at the start, “I’ve been off my game this week, just terrible, and we don’t have a backup keeper.” The two boys were silent for a moment, both thinking and watching the others’ reaction. “So will you do it?”

               “Fine.” Draco walked away, leaving Weasley behind. Ron didn’t give the Slytherin’s hasty leave much thought before he left as well. Ron wasn’t sure how Hermione would react but at least she wouldn’t be patrolling alone.

               Draco was waiting by the Great Hall, he was a bit early for patrols but he hadn’t seen any sense in going all the way back to the common room only to have to meet Hermione back here. He was perched on the stone ledge just below one of the windows that looked out over the courtyard. The snow that had been dumped on castle grounds over the holiday was finally starting disappear, in most places all that was left was soggy ground. Only in places where snow had been piled high in attempts to clear a path was there still visible snow. Although the traces of winter were leaving, the temperature was not. Strong heating charms were still set up on the castle, though it seems that they were weakening as of late, the charm was no longer preventing the chill from slipping through the stone walls.

               Draco couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had clung to him ever since Weasley asked him to cover his patrol with Hermione. Why did Weasley come to him? It didn’t make much sense to Draco. If Weasley was concerned about Hermione’s safety than why ask the one person in the school who had real ties to dark witches and wizards. And he’d come to find out that Draco was the only person Weasley asked to cover his patrol. So why would Ron ask him and why did he seem so sure that he would say yes? Draco was certain that Weasley was too thick to have picked up any of the slight reactions from him, but he was still concerned about them being found out. He reasoned that maybe the fear of being found out was making him overly suspicious, after all, Weasley wouldn’t have picked up on the subtle changes in him and Hermione’s relationship, Ron hadn’t even noticed the crush Hermione had on him for the first few years, and young Hermione Granger was anything but subtle.

               Draco was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning away from the window he came face to face with the source of that noise.

               “A bit jumpy Draco?” Hermione teased, masking the playfulness well.

               “Just dozed off waiting for you, Weasley is having me cover for him, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.” He slid off the stone ledge, standing dangerously close to Hermione, his head so high above hers it almost intimidated her. Almost.

               “Well excuse me for being…” she checked her wrist watch, “five minutes early.” She glared back up at him, the glint only visible to him.

               “Let’s just get going.” Draco and Hermione started on their rounds, both concealing smiles from the few surrounding classmates that barely glanced up at the common sound of their arguing.

               Draco had held the belief since his first patrol that eight o’clock was far too early to begin. People were still milling around after finishing dinner and many students would be moving about the castle for detentions or to go to the library for at least another two hours. He shouldn’t have to give up precious hours that could be spent doing his own schoolwork to patrol hallways that weren’t intended to be empty yet.

               Currently the irritation had more to do with just how many people there were in the corridors. Stragglers mostly, but it still meant that he and Hermione had to keep acting as though they were still enemies. They had to walk distanced from each other, they couldn’t even carry an amiable conversation without it being cause for suspicion. Again the regrets of old actions were weighing heavy on his shoulders, he could feel his posture suffer from it.

He often wondered where they would be now if he hadn’t been influenced by his father’s beliefs and followed blindly after the death eater. Would he have been sorted into Slytherin? Would he be friends with Potter and Weasley, Longbottom? Would he and Hermione share such strong feelings if there was no friction between them? It was strange to think about but strange in the way a utopia seems strange; foreign and new but oh so tempting.

“Draco! Are you listening to me?!” Hermione yelled at him, he took note of his clenched hands, how they nearly reached out to touch him; but that would hint to the outside world that they were on a level where physical contact was welcomed. Draco looked at her, a bored expression on his face. She took that to mean he hadn’t been listening.

“I was saying… we might as well just wait in the library for a bit, there is no sense in us walking around patrolling when curfew isn’t for another hour and a half. Don’t you agree?” she was quieter when she spoke this time, sounding almost bored and most definitely tired. He nodded and followed, keeping a few steps between them as they followed the all too familiar path to the library.

The library was deserted for the most part, only hardcore academics were studying or working on assignments, other students would put this work off but not this group. The group there were mostly quiet Ravenclaws that didn’t even twitch as the doors such behind the two prefects. Draco stood there in a dazed sense, not noticing immediately when Hermione continued towards the small section of fiction novels.

He watched her from a distance, her lips pouting as she scanned the spines of the book, her fingertip grazing along the worn covers until she found one that interested her. She plucked it off the shelf and took it to one of the faded brown couches that were arranged just beyond that shelf. When she took a seat and noticed he hadn’t followed her there was a second of concern etched on her features before she found him standing in a daze. Glancing around them she faced him again and smiled, patting the space on the couch next to her. He followed her direction and found himself leaning against the plush fabric, his body turned towards her and on leg crossed over the other.

He watched her read, she leaned against the opposite side of the couch, her knees tucked under her and shoes left abandoned on the floor. She held the book delicately, almost reverently, between her hands. He looked at the cover briefly, the title was written in faded gold script, standing out just enough from the brown cover.

“The Hobbit?” Draco didn’t realize he had spoken out loud but quickly figured it out when she glanced his way.

“Yeah, it’s a muggle fairy tale of sorts. My mum read it to me when I was young and it was the first book I read all by myself. It’s my favorite.” She smiled, her thoughts somewhere else, “you should read it; you might even like it.” She teased before focusing back on the small typewritten words. He could see that she was more interested in the book than in him, and he was content to watch her.

It wasn’t long before Hermione looked over to Draco, his head was drooping to side, and he looked more at ease in that moment than he had all week. She watched him for a few moments before glancing down at her watch. It was only nine o’clock, they could go back to rounds in half an hour, no one would notice. Before she returned to her book she shifted closer to Draco, leaning closer and giving his cheek a soft kiss. She continued leaning against his shoulder as she read, enjoying the comforting warmth that came from being so close to him.


	11. Almost Normal

“Hermione dear.” Hermione’s head shot up, she’d been so lost in her book she hadn’t heard her name being called the first few times. “Hermione, you might want to wake up your friend, the library is closing in a few minutes.”

               Hermione refocused on reality enough to see that it was the younger librarian’s assistant talking to her. The tall German witch looked much more intimidating that the usual librarian but it was only skin deep. Hermione had spent so much time here that she was on good terms with both women.

               “He’s not, we were just, and… wait, what time is it?” Hermione’s mind jumped from denying the relationship she and Draco had to remembering that they had to patrol tonight.

               “It’s eleven.” The brunette woman informed her, stifling a chuckle at the momentary panic that crossed the young Gryffindor’s expression. She left her to wake the boy next to her, thinking how familiar that scene had felt. More than once had she caught students using the less traveled sections of the library for ‘activities’ and they all had the same string of responses and excused.

               Hermione slid her shoes back on, stretching her arms above her head she felt her spine pop and her elbow crack. Satisfied with the loosening of her stiff arms she turned to see Draco watching her, the look on his face guilty, like a child that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

               Draco had to take a few moments before he could speak again. His teenage brain was wide awake now, yet all cognitive function was stalled due to the lack of blood it was receiving. He’d found Hermione to be incredibly beautiful since the Yule Ball fourth year, when the image of her frizzy hair and buck teeth had been shattered by the soft curls and dazzling smile of the girl on Victor Krum’s arm. After that night she returned to her plain uniform and mostly unmanageable curls but every boy in the school saw her differently now, Draco included.

               She might not have realized it, but the way her stretching made her shirt come up just a bit and pulled the fabric of the shirt tighter against her chest. It was an intoxicating sign, seemingly innocent, which made it all the more attractive.

               “Draco,” she took his hand, his long fingers brushing against hers, “we have to go.” She pulled him, gently, out of the library.

               The hallway was empty, most of the paintings were asleep. Using a weak lumos Hermione shed a small bit of light on the space. It was quiet, just the sounds of snoozing portraits.

               “Well, we better go back to our common rooms.” Hermione stated, smiling weakly at him and shrugging her shoulders. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, her hands using his shoulders for support. He turned his head at the last second, their lips connecting, a spark went through both of them. It was soft and his lips were gentle against hers, his hands gripped her upper arms first, sliding to her back as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer. She let out a short gasp, their mouths still connected, before matching him, kissing was always a battle for them. She bit his lip before slipping her tongue between his lips. Their kiss continued, quietly so as to no disturb the portraits but still fueled by shared passion and determination to win this new battle.

               These battles always had a winner, the first one to break the kiss lost. This time Hermione was the victor. Draco jumped back, a small noise of surprise coming from him as he looked, stunned, at the girl desperately trying not to laugh at his reaction. The small pinch to his rear wasn’t painful but it was startling. Hermione was failing terribly at stifling her laughter, her giggling was rarely heard but it was incredibly girly.

               “Alright cheater, let’s get you back to your common room.” He said, a genuine smile on his face, his eyes lightening as the smile reached them. He pulled her next to him and they began walking. It only took a few steps for the arm around her shoulders to slip down and cup her rear. When she looked at him, the playful accusatory look asked him for an explanation, he answered, “Payback.”

               The walk to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room was short, only a few minutes later were they standing just around the corner. Making sure no one was around Draco leaned down and took Hermione’s head between his hands, kissing her softly, pulling away she could feel the longing in the kiss. He stood back up and instantly felt a tightness around his waist. Her head was resting just above his heart and her arms were hugging him.

               “Hermione.” Draco rubbed her back and hugged her back, pressing his face against the top of her head.

               All of a sudden there was a creek as the portrait of the fat lady swung and then shut loudly. Draco jumped, and with incredible luck was able to jump behind one of the castles various suits of armor. In the darkness it was nearly impossible to see him.

               “Hermione? Is that you?” It was Ginny Weasley, she was dressed in her pajamas and her hair was pulled up into a pony tail.

               “Yes, sorry, I- I just got back from rounds.”

               “Yeah, I guess they just ran late, Ron told us that Malfoy was covering for him. That must have been fun.” She commented sarcastically, both girls heading back into the common room. Hermione glanced backwards, catching the glint of Draco’s grey eyes as he hid in the shadows.

               Back in the common room Hermione found Ron and Harry waiting by the fireplace. Hermione didn’t miss the Marauder’s map tucked into Harry’s shirt pocket. The group talked for a while, eventually ending with Hermione nagging the three Quidditch players to get to bed, they had a game tomorrow after all, and a good night’s sleep would do wonders.

                 


	12. The Game

The next morning the great hall was filled with excited chatter, games between Gryffindor and Slytherin were always highly anticipated. The house rivalry always made the games interesting. Hermione sat with her friends, watching in slight disgust as Ron completed his pre-game ritual of stuffing his face, Ginny gave her brother a glare and Harry shook his head. Hermione was careful to keep her gaze from shifting to the Slytherin table, the large group was snickering loudly. The crass topic of their conversation made her nose wrinkle when she overheard only a small part of the conversation.

               She tried to focus on the conversation her three companions were holding, but she was hard pressed to be even the slightest bit interested in Quidditch strategies. Before long the quidditch players of both time left the great hall, pre-game warm ups were starting, and Hermione found herself seated on the chilled bleachers between Nevil and Luna.

               The air still nipped at the students’ noses, the tips becoming red and their breaths just barely visible. Luna performed a small heating charm that kept the three students warm, all feeling slightly guilty for taking the easy way out while their friends had to fly around a break-neck speed in this weather. The game was about to start, both teams took their positions on the grassy floor of the quidditch pitch, both teams starting roster was called out. Hermione couldn’t help the slight shiver the went down her spine when Draco’s name was called, Luna asked if she needed to make the heating charm stronger. The whistle blew and the game began.

               Hermione had never found quidditch interesting as a game, but watching her friends play, she could almost see why her friends obsessed over it. She often wondered what went thorough Harry’s head as his green eyes scanned the pitch for just the slightest hint of gold buzzing wings. She was certain that no thoughts crossed Ron’s mind, he played very instinctually, if only his instincts were this on target off the pitch. Hermione only really started watching the games when Ginny began playing; first as concern for the twiggy red head, but she quickly saw that no one could touch her friend, flashes of red was usually all she saw of Ginny as she zipped through the air. She would never be at ease on a broom like those three, it was like breathing for every one of them.

               She tried to keep her eyes from searching out the blond and green streak. That would only distract her. He, like Ginny, was rarely still. He hadn’t lasted as a seeker, quickly he’d been placed as a chaser. And he thrived there. There were a string of boos around her, she kept herself from jumping but still held the confused look that seemed foreign to her face.

               “What happened?” she whispered to Nevil, who was intently watching the game and had often explained the rules to her. She was far too proud to ask Harry, Ron, or Ginny.

               “One of the Slytherin beaters nearly hit Ron with his bat, he’s claiming he just made a bad swing.” Nevil didn’t explain further, too intent on the game unfolding before them.

               Draco was in near perfect position to receive the quaffel off of Ron’s deflection. He was only a few feet too low. The quaffel soared at an impossible speed and slammed directly into Draco’s cheek. He was stunned, that much was clear. He didn’t fall off his broom but he was in serious danger of getting hit if he didn’t move soon.

               Hermione was surprised to find that she wasn’t the only one cringing at the sight of that collision. Both Nevil and Luna were making faces, all of them unable to imaging what a rock head, frozen quaffel felt like when it hit you going at least fifty miles per hour.

               “Ouch,” Nevil commented under his breath “Even a git like Malfoy doesn’t deserve a quaffel to the face.” Hermione was surprised to hear that, and it must have shown on her face. “Just because Malfoy believes the dumb elitist shit he was spoon fed as a child doesn’t mean he deserved to be hated indiscriminately.”

               “Wow, that’s… very insightful, Nevil.” Hermione was shocked, she had no idea that Nevil felt that way.     

               “Draco was doomed before he began, his father made certain of that.” Luna commented from her other side. “Growing up with those ideals, he never had a chance.” Hermione nodded, looking between both her friends, who had turned back to the game.

               “I guess you have a point.” She uttered, quietly so no one would hear, before returning her focus to the game as well. By this time Draco had been taken off the pitch, concussion checks and all could be seen going on just beyond the pitch boundaries.

                 The game ended like all of them inevitable do. Harry caught the snitch in the last moment, just barely snatching it from between the Slytherin seeker’s fingertips. The bleachers erupted on one side as boos were being thrown on the other.

               Hermione followed the group of Gryffindor students heading back to the common room, a party was always held after a game and she would usually help set everything up. Soon every Gryffindor student was crammed into the common room, loud music blaring and food being shoveled into the players mouths. Hermione was able to congratulate her friends their attention was diverted. Hermione watched, slightly sickened, as Lavender Brown threw herself at Ron, and how easily he took the bait. She wanted to ask Harry and Ginny about it but they were busy, locked in a kiss.

               Hermione had spent several hours at the party and was exhausted by it. Quietly, not that anyone would have noticed, she slipped out the portrait hole. Without tell her feet they instinctually took her to the prefects bathroom. No one would be there now, she could unwind and figure some things out. For a split second she thought she heard the sound of water splashing but when she didn’t hear anything else she concluded that she was long overdue for a relaxing soak in the tub.


	13. The Prefect's Bath

Hermione was suddenly very unsure about what she was about to do. Rarely did she regret her decisions but this feeling was dangerously close to that. She couldn’t back down now, she was the one that had asked if she could tell her friends, and he’d supported her entirely, not once did he even suggest they wait longer. In fact he’d insisted that he be with her when she tell her friends, but she had insisted that would only make it more difficult to actually tell them. And she was right. If Draco was in the room when she told them she’d never get a word in.

               She was on her way to the empty classroom she’d asked to meet them in, her mind spinning. She hoped that Ginny would at least try to see her point of view and side with her. She knew that Luna would understand, and Nevil would trust her judgment. Harry and Ron were the one’s she worried about, both of them considered Draco to be their enemy. They were her best friends but how would they react to this?

               When she reached the classroom she found everyone sitting there waiting. Ron and Harry were sitting on top of a table, Ginny sat in a chair with her feet propped on a desk, Luna was leaning against the window, and Nevil was actually sitting at a desk properly, leaning back with his eyes closed.

               “Hermione, there you are. What did you need to talk to us about?” Nevil asked, being the first to notice her appearance. Harry and Ron pulled their eyes away from the Quidditch magazine and Ginny and Luna both turned to look towards her as well.

               “Well, um, it’s… its kind of hard to explain. But I need you guys to hear me out, okay?” she was never this nervous or stuttering this much, it had all five of her friends looking at her hesitantly but intent.

               “Well, come on then, what is it?” Ginny asked, knowing Hermione would stand there like she’d been hit with a petrifying charm for hours before actually getting to her point.

               “I’ve been secretly seeing someone for most of this year, and I felt bad keeping it from you any longer.” She confessed, hoping to ease them into it. They all stared for a moment before launching into a mix of congratulations and questions.

               “Well who is it?” Harry asked, almost forced to shout over Ginny excited squeal.

               “Yes, Hermione, do tell us?” Luna added, her dazed expression couldn’t hide the interest that sparked in her eyes.

               “Well, that’s the tricky part. It’s… uh…. Draco Malfoy.” She braced herself for the bombardment. But all she received were shocked stares, well from everyone but Ginny, who’d falling off her seat and was currently brushing the dust off her skirt.

               “Wait…what? When did this-? How did you-? Why?” Harry was just in his genera state of confusion. Nevil was helping Ginny up and Luna was gazing out the window. Ron was actually the one she expected to scream at her, but he was rather calm, which was highly suspicious.

               “Look, it doesn’t matter how but I got him to open up and once we moved past our childhood nonsense we found that we really get along. And it lead to this. And I wanted to tell you all because you guys are my best friends.”

               “Okay, so just to get this right, run through it again with me?” Ginny requested, “So, somehow you got Mr. Stoic to open up. Then you got him to apologize for making your childhood a living hell. Then somewhere between apologizing and now you and he became some strange breed of couple. And now you’re telling us. Right?” Hermione nodded, not sure she agreed with the way Ginny phrased it but deciding to let that go.

               “So he’s not an asshole anymore? He doesn’t believe in all that blood purity shit?” Harry clarified.

               “No.”

               “So why does he still… act like he believes all that shit?” Nevil asked.

               “He won’t tell me too much of how his family is involved but he did say if he doesn’t help his father hold up their end of the deal than he and his mother are as good as dead.”

               “Why doesn’t he just run?”

               “His mother would never leave his father, and he won’t leave his mother to suffer.”

               “Wow this is complicated.” Ginny called out before walking over to Hermione and pulling her into a hug, “But I’m glad you’re happy, even though we both know how anxious you must be, not knowing how all this will turn out.” Ginny smiled, before joining Harry on top of the desk.

               “Whatever you think is best Hermione, if you say he’s changed and trust him then so will I.” Nevil assured her.

               “Anything to add, Luna?” Ginny called. Receiving a subtle shake of the head. “What about you Ron? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

               Ron’s ears started to turn red.

               “I… uh… like Nevil said, I trust your judgment Hermione.” Ron was shifting and his ears only got redder with everyone’s eyes on him.

               “You knew!” Ginny accused, pointing a finger at her brother.

               “What! No… I didn’t…. well…. Yeah. I did know.” He admitted one glance at his sister and Hermione told him he wouldn’t be able to lie to them.

               “When… how did you find out?” Hermione asked, worried now that others might have seen.

               “Well, I went to the library once you got out of the infirmary… to apologize. It was really late but I thought I heard your voice so I looked around more and… I just saw you guys.”

               “And you didn’t freak out and go crazy on them?”

               “Wow, that’s very mature of you Ron.”

               “Yeah, I guess. Look so now that everyone knows, what do we do now?” Ron asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. This didn’t change the face that there was still a war, and they were at the center of it. All of them knew that when the fighting finally broke out Draco wouldn’t stand by Hermione, Hermione even knew that.


	14. Confessions

Hermione was thrilled, her friends had accepted her relationship with Draco, even if they were a bit confused by how it all happened. After she’d answered most of their questions they’d even begun brainstorming ways to get Draco in contact with the order, but in secrecy so He Who Must Not Be Named would not find out and punish the other Malfoys. She’d tried to squash those plans, knowing that Draco could never agree to any of them, all the plans they’d thought up were ones she already suggested, and none of them could ensure that Narcissus Malfoy wouldn’t be punished for Draco’s actions. Hermione knew they meant well, they wanted her to be happy and they knew that, for some unknown reason, Draco made her happy. She’d even heard them change how they referred to them, catching their harsh use of his last name and switching it out for his first, which everyone could admit felt weird on their tongues.

               “If only Malf- Draco could convince his mother to help the order too, if she was in on the plan it would be much easier to ensure her safety.” Ron commented, frustrated at how every viable suggestion he came up with was immediately shot down. Everyone nodded, all eyes turning to Hermione. She knew what they were all thinking, what they wouldn’t say.

               “I know. I’ve tired to suggest her talk to her, but he’s adamant that she’d never leave Lucius.” She had gotten used to the way Draco’s name felt on her tongue, even enjoyed the shiver it sent up her spine, but saying his father’s name still gave her chills in a completely different way.

               “Do you think she believes in all the blood purity crap too?” Ginny asked, they all knew that Tonk’s mother was Narcissus and Bellatrix’s sister, and how she had never paid any mind to the blood purity propaganda that her family had been built on. “Is it possible that Narcissus is like Andromeda?”

               “It’s possible, Andromeda was the middle child, so she could have influenced Narcissus, but I think the rest of the family scared her into pretending to believe the same things they did. Draco doesn’t mention her a lot but it’s clear that he cares for her far more than he does for his father. He’s always said how dependent she was on the house elves, but never cruel to them. It’s very possible that she doesn’t know how to think any different. She grew up with her family aligning with Voldemort in the first war, and then she married and lived in basically the same environment. If she doesn’t believe in it all she’s probably repressed it very deep to cope with her reality.”

               Everyone nodded, solemnly they all looked at their feet. Hermione felt terrible, she’d dropped this bomb of information on her friends and they were trying hard to understand and help her but all she could do was give them half answers and shoot down their proposals because even she didn’t know how deeply intertwined the Malfoy family was with Voldemort.

               They all headed to bed not long after, Hermione sending a quick note with her owl to Draco, they’d meet early tomorrow morning talk but she wanted to calm his anxiousness and let him know that it had all gone well.

               It was only a few minutes later that she received a note from him. He was relieved and eager to see her tomorrow morning. He agreed to meet with her early tomorrow morning and then added another few lines that made her blush and forced her to suppress girlish giggles that would alarm her dorm mates.

               That night her dreams were hopeful, rose tinted, and just downright giddy. She wouldn’t be surprised if her dorm mates had heard her giggling in her sleep. She never would have let her mind wander there in the daytime, but in her dreams she allowed a little indulgence. Her dreams cut through small intimate moments, her and Draco drinking wine in a fancy restaurant in Paris, she introducing him to her parents and answering any questions he had about all the muggle things in her parents’ home, him proposing, his mother crying with hers as she walked down the aisle, a blond little boy with silver eyes and buck teeth. The next morning she would bury those hopes and dreams deep down within her, she wouldn’t be able to forget about them and when she saw Draco next she would probably bury her face in his chest, he’d ask her what was wrong and she wouldn’t be able to tell him.

               She always hated the blood purity ideology but she had never let it stand in her way, she’d always managed to prove wrong those who thought of her in those terms. But she couldn’t do anything about this, about how the world she was living in kept her so far away from his, they were close, sinfully close, but never close enough.


	15. Burying Hope

It was exceedingly early when Hermione woke up, but that was nothing new and her roommates simply ignored the noise of her feet on the floor. Within a half hour she was dressed and ready for the day, excited to see Draco. She made her way down the winding stone stairs and slipped out of the common room. She was the only one awake this early, the only students besides her and Draco in the Great Hall were a small group of boys heading out to use the quidditch pitch before the house teams claimed the area. As the boys shuffled out it was only her and Draco. Without a second thought Hermione moved to the Slytherin table, sitting across from him.

               “Malfoy.” She whispered, barely containing her giddy smile, she was still very excited about how her friends reacted to her news.

               “Granger.” He replied in his trademark bored but still cocky tone of voice before taking a bite out of his heavily buttered slice of toast. The two shared a knowing glance, smiling as they filled their plates with eggs and ham and toast.

               “So I take it your friends didn’t murder you for breathing the same air as me?” He quirked an eyebrow before taking a sip of his coffee, she could smell the dark roast coffee grounds wafting up towards her, so much more potent than the gentle hints of her green tea. She shook her head, brunette curls bobbing back and forth. “That’s a good thing.” He informed her.

               “How come?” She knew why she thought it was a good thing but was now curious as to why her friend’s opinions mattered to him at all.

               He leaned across the table, unconsciously she followed suit. His hand found hers, relaxing the tensed fist she was making in anticipation of his answer. When their faces nearly touched he took hold of her chin, gently, and spoke.

               “Because,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. She couldn’t help it, her eyelids slipped shut as she let his voice wash over her. “I wasn’t letting you go without a fight.” He finished, kissing her roughly on the lips, demonstrating just how hard he would fight to keep her.

               When they pulled away Hermione blushed, her delicate hand moving to cover her mouth and spreading blush. She glanced around, letting out a sigh of relief, when she got a questioning glance from across the table she explained.

               “Just because my friends know and can keep a secret doesn’t mean any other students or teacher can. What would happen if one of your friends had stumbled upon us? Or worse, Professor Snape?” she didn’t wait for his answer, he still hadn’t gotten used to her rhetorical questions. “I’ll tell you what would happen, there’d be a letter sent to your father before we’d know it. I… I don’t want you or your mother to get in trouble because we let our guard slip and someone caught us. It could very well be the end of you if Voldemort ever found out.” She was barely whispering by the time she finished talking, her hands were clutching his across the dark wooden surface of the table.

               She gave his hands as squeeze before pulling back and eating the rest of her breakfast. The two finished their breakfast in silence, a slightly uncomfortable one, but a much needed type of silence. Both reflected on what they’d each said and hadn’t said. When they finished their plates vanished and they left the great hall, Hermione heading to the library and Draco back to his common room. The two were not people who acted on impulse and the fears that Hermione had shared required both of them to think long and hard, they would no doubt reach the same conclusion but for now they needed space and time to think clearly.

               Neither one of them knew that Hermione’s fear might soon come true. While they’d seen no students or teachers in the great hall before or after their kiss they hadn’t noticed the tall dark haired figure that had barely entered the hall while they’d been otherwise occupied. The DADA professor had carried a suspicion for some time but this had solidified that suspicion.

This put him in a tricky situation. Even though Serverus Snape had taught Harry Potter to guard his thoughts, the older wizard had never been successful in doing so himself. His mind was permeable and if the Dark Lord ever caught wind of the young Malfoy’s recent actions, Snape would on the same list as the Malfoys, their untimely demise would be inevitable if Lord Voldemort found out about this.

Snape would have to confront Draco Malfoy.


	16. Fears Come True

Draco felt the eyes of his professor and godfather once again on the back of his head. The older wizard had always kept an eye out for the boy, more so now with all that was going on. But this wasn’t a simple glance at him, this was a glare, daggers aimed at the space between his eyes. It was very distracting and impeding his already slowed pace. His partner for this project was exceedingly inept, leaving most of the work to fall on his shoulder, mostly because he didn’t think his partner could handle it.

               This continued for most of the class period, Draco would get a few moments of peace where he could focus, but the dark eyes would inevitably fall back upon him. By the time the class ended he’d only accomplished half of the work he’d thought he’d be able to finish. He was packing up his books and shoving his wand into the pocket of his robe when he noticed the look Professor Snape was sending him. He knew what this meant. Trying to hide the begrudging feeling he felt welling up inside him he set his bag back on the desk.

               “Mister Malfoy,” Snape sneered, “It has come to my attention that you’ve been keeping secrets this year.” He emphasized his point by slamming the door of his classroom. Draco made sure to keep his face expressionless, the same trick he’d learned from his mother at the age of five. But he was certain Snape could see the panic in his eyes.

               “I don’t know what you are insinuating, but I can assure you that whatever you think you know is wrong.” Bag in hand he moved around his professor towards the door. The door knob wouldn’t turn, the door was stuck. Turning he waited for Snape to say what he wanted to say.

               “Are you absolutely sure Draco? You certainly wouldn’t want word getting back to your father about you and Ms. Granger.” Snape saw the shift in his eyes; surprise, fear, and panic all flashed by before a very different look took over his features. Snape almost didn’t recognize it.

               “You wouldn’t break your deal with my mother, meaning you are unable to tell my father of any of this.” Draco countered. Suddenly Snape recognized the look in his eyes, it was the same insufferable look of determination that so often blazed in the eyes of one Hermione Granger.

               “You would do well to sever whatever is between you and Granger, there are others reporting to the Dark Lord who would not be as understanding as I.”

               Draco didn’t respond. He knew Snape was right, his own classmates may be reporting back to the Dark Lord. If anyone else got wind of this he’d be done for. Worse than that it would put an even larger target on Hermione’s back while adding his mother and father to the list of traitors.

               “I won’t.” Draco spoke quietly but with resolve, “I won’t be like you, Professor, mother told me all about you and Potter’s mother. You still being so bitter over that is what convinces me that severing my ties with Hermione is one of the worst mistakes I could make at this point. I won’t do it, and I won’t end up like you, or my father.”

               It had been years since Draco had lost control of his magical ability but at this moment his anger and determination caused his uncontrolled magic to break the lock and knob on the door. With no final words to his godfather and professor Draco stalked out of the room.

               Draco was a master at keeping his face expressionless, honestly it was a Malfoy trait that he was actually grateful for. But his masked panic still bubbled beneath the surface.

               He’d just defied an order from a higher ranking Death Eater and if it weren’t for the deal Snape and his mother had made he would be done for. But more than that, he knew Snape had been in his shoes. Snape had loved a muggle born, even though it went against everything he’d been brought up to believe. But Draco would not make the same mistake. He’d been lucky enough that Hermione had forgiven his younger personality and accepted him change of heart. He wasn’t going to fuck up now.

               He’d been so consumed with his thoughts he hadn’t been watching where he was going. He walked right into someone’s shoulder. Knocking the books from her hands. Without thinking he stooped to help her pick up the scattered papers. Not looking up he handed the pile he’d collected back to the girl.

               “Uh… thanks Mal- Draco.” His eyes darted up to find Ginny Weasley. He wasn’t quite sure how to approach this. Hermione had told her friends about him but did that change anything. She’d called him Draco, and he didn’t see anyone else around, but he still had a reputation, and Snape had been right, any other person would report him to the Dark Lord.

               “Just watch where you are walking next time Weasley.” His voice didn’t have a bite to it or any sneer but it was enough that anyone watching them wouldn’t notice much out of the ordinary.

               He heard a small ‘humph’ behind him but didn’t look back. He had far more important things on his mind than an angry redhead or a few scattered papers.   


	17. The Past Will Not Repeat Itself Now

With adrenaline still pumping from his confrontation with Snape, Draco barreled down the corridors, knocking books out of hands and shouldering his way through the more crowded hallways. It wasn’t till he reached the emptier corridors that he started to calm down. His paced slowed, his breathing evening out.

               “Draco? Are you alright?” His head snapped towards the source of the sweet voice that flowed like honey from soft lips. It was Hermione, she was standing at the other end of the hall, hair in a delicate braid over her shoulder and face etched with concern. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could tell the internal crisis he was having with just one look.

               She was coming closer to him, he could see her lips moving, forming words meant to comfort him, but all he could process was the sight of her. The curve of her lips, how she bit her bottom lip so enticingly. Her calm brown eyes and her pale hands, for once empty of books or bag, reaching out towards him. He pictured her curves, how perfectly his mouth fit along the curve of her neck, or how his hands seemed to find home on the swell of her hips.

               She was standing in front of him now, more than just fear in her eyes as her hands gripped his shoulders. She was small, gripping him with all her strength was barely felt by him. But he still couldn’t focus on her words, he could see her lips forming words but all he could think about was a much better use for those lips.

               With a near inhuman speed he grabbed her by the waist, pushing her against the stone wall, and kissing her roughly. He heard her groan, and for a second he thought he’d hurt her. He went to pull back but the hand gripping the fabric of his shirt held him in place.

               The kiss was hot and heavy, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance. Draco pushed his body against hers, hips fitting together like puzzle pieces and their breathing forced to be shallow. His fingertips clung to her hips, the curve fitting in his hands like that was where they were meant to be. He’d apologize for the bruising that would surely be left later, right now he was too preoccupied with the way her nails dug into his shoulders and how her breath came in hitching gasps.

               He was forced to pull back, his lack of breathing making him feel heady and made the edges of his vision blur just slightly. He tipped his head back, trying to catch his breath but also opening his neck up to Hermione’s reach. This really didn’t help his breathing but it did give him a chance to notice what had changed about their surroundings.

               They were still alone, which was a blessing considering how unobservant they had been, but the wall he’d shoved Hermione against was now a wooden door, the wrought iron framing around it immediately identifying it as the Room of Requirement. Draco had never seen the door when he wasn’t performing a duty to help his father and the other death eaters, it had always held negative sentiments in his mind. But at the moment his mind was so clouded he didn’t notice anything beyond the feeling of her body so close to him and her lips so delicate on the skin of his throat.

               “Granger,” he whispered, his voice husky as his fingers twirled a strand of chestnut curl. Her lips stilled, pulling back enough to look up at him, her brown eyes clouded with something unfamiliar. His hand found the door knob, with a twist the heavy slab of wood moved. The smile that appeared on Hermione’s face was enough to let him know that she knew exactly what this room was.

               Her lips were on his again, and Draco wasn’t sure where this aggressiveness was coming from but he liked it. What can only be described as a growl came from deep in his throat. With ease he lifted her off the ground, making her jump in a bit of surprise before she thought to wrap her legs around his waist. Her arms were around his neck, their chests pressed tightly together, and his hands were holding onto her rear shamelessly.

               Still holding her he carried her into the room, shutting the door behind them as he leaned against it, the way her curves were pressed to tightly against him had him at a loss for thoughts.

               “Don’t tease me.” Hermione whimpered when he had to break their kiss to breathe. Her legs slipped off his hips, skirt hiked dangerously high. Draco couldn’t respond, his breathing was erratic and she smiled up at him, proud of the reaction she’d caused. She let him catch his breath, pressing her head against his chest, hearing the pounding heartbeats and feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.

               He used the break she was giving him to take in the room. He’d only ever seen it two different ways: the Dumbledore’s Army headquarters, and the room of lost objects that made him sick to think about. This room was neither of those, it was entirely different but the intentions were very clear.

               There was a large four post bed, much like the one in their dormitories, but supersized. There was a large fireplace opposite of the bed, the space between covered by thick carpet. There was a door to their left that looked like it lead to a bathroom but Draco was still focused on the bed.

               He hadn’t been looking for the room, not consciously at least, but he’d be lying if he said his mind wouldn’t have eventually wandered to a situation like this one. Glancing down he noticed that Hermione hadn’t seen the room yet, a brief panicked thought crossed his mind. They’d never talked about their relationship on this type of a physical level. Would she panic? Worse, would she think he expected this from her?

               “Draco,” her voice was quiet, but he could hear her smile. “Stop panicking, I was thinking about the room.” His eyes darted down to meet hers, a grin fit for a Slytherin spread on her face.

               “You want to…?” Draco was cut off by her nod and then by her hand on his collar pulling his lips down on hers.

               “Yes.”

               Draco picked her up once more, nearly sprinting to the bed. Once there he set her down on it. But she kept her legs around his waist, her fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt. He couldn’t help but chuckles at the way she bit her lip and tried to concentrate on the buttons without ripping them from the shirt. It didn’t help that she was batting his hands away each time they went for the bottom of her jumper, trying to get it off her.

               The accomplished look on her face when she finally pulled the shirt from his pants and slid it off his shoulders could be compared to the look she got just before finishing a difficult potion correctly. She reached for his belt but his hand caught her wrist and held her still. It was his turn. Nearly ripping it in the process he managed to yank her jumper over her head, he actually did rip her shirt in his haste to get it off, sliding it off her shoulders but not completely off, her arms stuck behind her back.

               With her arms were trapped behind her Draco took the opportunity to take in her beauty, the flush in her cheeks as she tried to shrink under his gaze. He cupped her cheek, making her look into his eyes as her looked at her. She stopped trying to hide when she noticed the way he licked his lips and how the look in his eyes was nothing less than adoration. She watched as his lips grazed over her collarbone before following the newly bared curves of her chest, kissing along the edge of her bra.

               He’d been so caught up he hadn’t noticed how she slipped out of her shirt the rest of the way, he only noticed how her hands had now opened the buckle of his belt and was pushing his pants from his hips. His pants dropped to the floor, his hands slipped under her skirt, the soft skin of her thighs under his fingertips, goose bumps raised as he passed.

               He climbed onto the bed with her, hovering over her as his hands found a home on her hips, thumbs caressing the softly protruding bones beneath his hands. She lifted her hips as her skirt slipped down her legs, collecting on the floor with the other clothing. He laughed, a genuine and happy sound that lit up his eyes and melted the cool calm they had grown accustomed to. Hermione laughed along with him, the chances this would happen the same day she wore this particular set of underwear. She didn’t wear this set often but the look of sheer freedom on his face made it worth the sixty dollar set of emerald green lace panties and a matching bra.

               “Are these your true colors Hermione?” smile splitting his face as he nuzzled against her neck. She nodded, giggling as his breath tickled her skin.

               Hermione gasped, surprised by how easily Draco managed to unhook her bra. The cocky smirk only made the heat pooling between her legs grow. While Draco took in the newly bared skin Hermione traced the planes on his back, fingertips grazing his spine and shoulder blades. In a giddy haste they each removed the final piece of clothing separating them.

               His eyes remained on hers the entire time, not once wavering. When the feeling became too much he buried his face in her neck, kissing along the pale skin as her nails scratched at his back.

               And when they came down from their highs, breathing heavy and skin damp, Draco rolled onto his back and pulled Hermione close to him. She laid her head on his chest, tucked just under his chin, and traced nonsensical patterns on his alabaster skin.

               “Draco,” her voice was small, not quiet, but hesitant, “I- I love you.” She looks up at him, meeting his grey eyes. “I don’t know what is going to happen, but I want to be with you when it happens. I know we may end up on opposite sides, that actually more likely, but-”

               “Hermione,” he kissed her forehead, palm smoothing her unruly hair away from her face, “we will be. I’m not letting you go, I’m not letting go of the one good, redeeming thing about myself. I not letting go until you ask me to, and maybe not even then. Whatever happens, we will be together in the end.”

               “How can you be so sure? Anything can happen, we won’t know until-”

               Draco kisses her, soft and reassuring, soothing hands on her back and gently lips on hers. He kisses her till she can’t keep her eyes open, till her eyes droop closed and she curls against him, even in sleep she fears losing him.

               “I won’t live without you.” Draco whispered, resolve in his voice.


	18. Keeping His Promise

The great hall looked grander today than it had during their fourth year at the Triwizard’s Christmas ball. That was the last time the hall had been so decorated and it had been rebuild, along with most of the castle in the months that followed the Battle at Hogwarts. This day marked the anniversary of the battle that ended Lord Voldemort’s reign of terror. All those present on that day were there now, remembering those that fought and died so that this would be possible and celebrating the official reopening of the school. Of course Headmistress McGonagall had allowed students to finish their seventh year, without the vicious teaching of the Carrow siblings.

               The hall must have been expanded, Draco thought to himself. He couldn’t remember a time when this many people had fit. The last time he’d been in this room the tables had been upturned, the silverware smashed by his tyrannical and crazed Aunt, and every inch of the floor taken up by either wounded or the dead from the battle. It had been a chaotic time and it was the sight of the repaired room that made him confident that this horrible nightmare was behind them all.

               Draco had found himself standing before the wall that was covered in photos of those that died during the first and second war. He could easily pick out most. Lavender Brown, the giggling fool he’d always taken her for had more than proved her right to Gryffindor house. Colin Creevey, the boy was too young, he shouldn’t have been fighting. Fred Weasley, Draco had never gotten the chance to really know the twins when they were together, he remembered the blurry, instance when two became one. Instantly he was back there; spell flew through the air, it was impossible to know who was casting them, though he suspected none of his Gryffindor classmates were familiar with the ancient dark spells he could hear being muttered around him. The air was thick with flashes of green and red, the dust from the rubble, and cries from both sides. He’d heard the spell being cast, how he’d ended up fighting back to back with the Weasley twins he wasn’t exactly sure. But the second later it didn’t matter. The wall came down and only one Weasley was close enough to be protected by his shielding charm.

               “You okay mate?” Draco was jolted out of his thoughts, turning he found his old school friend and recent business partner Blaise Zabini. The dark-skinned man had been among the children of Death Eaters like himself. For whatever reason they all began to question the hate and ignorance they’d been spoon-fed since birth. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy hadn’t been as lucky; the three were never leaders, he couldn’t help feel for them, they were all just mislead and manipulated.

               “I… I just… there are just too many memories, too many faces on this wall.” He tried to explain, both of their eyes falling on the cocky grin of one particular photograph. Blaise and Draco hadn’t been terrible close in school, though they shared a childhood friend. Theo. Theodore Nott, the small scrawled handwriting read just below his photo. Their troubled friend had never been one to believe all the crap their parents had spouted off, anything his father said was immediately contradicted. He’d been one of the first to ‘defect’ to the other side. His body had been found once the Death Eaters had retreated under Voldemort’s orders. It was clear he’d been after his father, Draco and Blaise knew he would do something stupid to get revenge. They never did get a clear answer but there were so many people near dying or missing for them to do more than carry his body to the Great Hall and lay him to rest in the days that followed.

               Neither dared look, they knew they wouldn’t see the ice sculpture or table of elegant foods, they’d see the bloodied bodies lined up, and the survivors huddled around their lost ones. Only four had huddled around his body, Draco, Hermione, Blaise, and Luna. Hermione hadn’t known Theo well, but knew that Draco needed her support, and Luna, she insisted that he’d always had a troubled soul, but never evil. Blaise found comfort in her way of seeing things.

               After a few moments of shared silence in respect for their fallen friend they spoke again.

               “Where’s Granger?” Blaise asked, knowing something was up with Draco and that it probably had something to do with the brilliant brunette. Draco nodded his head towards where she stood with McGonagall, the witches speaking with ease.

               “I hear she was offered a chance to write the next edition of Hogwarts: A History. She must be thrilled.”

               “She is, though she insists that there are others much more qualified to do so. Which is rubbish, if anyone knows what really happened during the battle, it’s her.” Draco shoved his hand in the pocket of his robe, fingertips grazing the satiny box that seemed weigh heavier that it had previously.

               “What are you fumbling with Malfoy?” Blaise was always watching people’s actions, that’s what made him good at making business deals.

               “Why does it have to be so bloody difficult? For the love of Merlin, you did it just fine, and you had fucking Lovegood. I swear you’re the only one who can understand that girl, and even that’s rare.”

               “Ahh, well than your nervous twitching makes perfect sense.” Blaise teased, he was only slightly teasing, and anyone who could read body language knew that Draco was anxious about something.

               “Shut it, git.” Draco muttered, hating that Blaise could see through him so easily. “Got any advice.” The words burned on his tongue, he hadn’t changed so much that asking of help didn’t make him feel physically ill. But he’d never been nervous like this before.

               Grey eyes followed the way Blaise twisted the gold band on his finger, still not used to its constant presence.

               “Honestly, it’s Granger. If I can see that you’re nervous, certainly she can. She just doesn’t know what you’re nervous about. Knowing her overactive brain she’s probably convinced herself it’s something terrible. The second you ask she’ll be relieved.” There was a long silence before he spoke again, Draco hadn’t said anything and that was troubling him, “So, are you going to do it or what?”

               Their conversation was cut short. Kingsley was on the stage and this was only the start of the speeches that would come. Hermione, had been helping Ron and Harry write their speeches for the past month, while her’s had been flawlessly written in its first draft. Blaise and Draco were able to contain their smirks and chuckling through Weasley’s slightly stuttered speech, and Potter’s overly dramaticness. Neither of them dared speak when McGonagall and Hermione spoke, all too aware of what those witches could do and still very fearful that they would act.    

               The speeches ended and dinner served. Draco and Blaise rejoined Luna and Hermione, sitting at the ‘star studded’ table, included Harry and Ginny Potter, Nevil Longbottom, Hannah Abbot, and Ron Weasley and his date. While Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom had accepted Blaise and Draco’s relationships with the girls they weren’t exactly friendly. Draco and Ron still bickered like children before Hermione would scold them, Draco and Potter actually kept a healthy banter that was more joking than hostile. Ginny and Blaise had a particularly entertaining continual debate. They actually got along quite well.

               After dinner Draco was nearly losing it with his nerves. Blaise helped him get Hermione alone, distracting the others now that the dancing aspect of the ball had begun. Hermione followed him outside the castle, believing his claim to ‘need some air’. Once they were outside Draco grabbed her around the waist, his disinterested mask slipping away now that they were away from prying eyes.

               Sometimes Hermione wished Draco was like this when others were around, but then she loved that he was so much himself when they were alone. He lifted her off her feet, their lips coming together instinctually. She cupped his face in her hands, sliding them behind his neck as he lowered her to the ground.

               “Are you alright Draco? You seemed a bit off earlier.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, curls bouncing while keeping their shape.

               “I was just thinking about Theo, and some of the others.” He admitted, feeling safe to confide in her, knowing she wouldn’t think less of him. She nodded, smiling softly as her hands slid over his shoulders.

               “Me too. But they wouldn’t want us to be miserable, Theo is probably making some dumb joke about you going soft, with all these feelings.” She teased him a bit, bringing up one of their first civil discussions about feelings and Draco’s apparent lack of feelings. They shared a few silent heartbeats, looking into her eyes he knew he needed to ask her.

               “I have a question for you Granger.” He started, stopping when she rolled her eyes at him, playful smirk on her face. “What?”

               “You’ve said it before,” she shook her head, “‘you’ll always be Granger until you’re Malfoy’ but it’s getting a bit ridiculous at this point Draco. I’m not sure you’ll ever stop calling me Granger.” She smiled, teasing him as she chewed her bottom lip and waited for his response.

               “Well I guess that depends on your answer.” He smirked when she was suddenly very curious in what he had to say.

               “Granger… er, Hermione,” he began, hand slipping into his pocked as the other held hers, he slid down to his knee, “will you marry me?” He popped open the lid of the satin box, revealing a very old but recently repaired ring, and heirloom his mother had given him.

               Hermione stared down at the ring for a split second, taking in the sparkling silver band with several small pale blue stones surrounding a beautiful diamond. Mostly she studied Draco, his eyes filled with uncertainty and anxiety. It was rare to see him so nervous about anything, the fact that he thought she would say no baffled her, how could she, why would she. Draco was everything she’d ever wanted, more than she dared hope for, and the furthest thing from what she’d expected.

               “Hermione…” his voice wavered, so strikingly out of character it make her laugh softly. And then she was nodding, dampness in the corner of her eyes as he slipped the ring on her finger. He stood up, wiping the fallen tears away with the pad of his thumb before kissing her. She clung to him, happiness welling up and threatening to burst from her. When the kiss ended they stayed close, her head tucked under his chin.

               “Thank you.” She whispered against his neck, he didn’t know what she was thanking him for but he just let it go.

               “I told you a long time ago, I will not live without you.” He kissed her forehead and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

 

The next day the prophet’s front page story had been swapped from the original overview of the event, instead it now read “Draco Malfoy Changing Tradition: Reconciled Son of a Death Eater Proposes to the Golden Girl of Gryffindor, and she Says Yes”

They woke up to Ginny’s owl tapping against their bedroom window with a copy of the prophet for them. Written in Ginny’s sloppy script besides the circled headline read a simple note: I call maid of honor!


End file.
